


I Wanna

by BuckinghamAlice



Series: You Can Sit Beside Me When The World Comes Down [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Boys In Love, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Sexual Experimentation, Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen year old Bruce Wayne is sent to spend the summer in Smallville with the Kents.  Though he is initially unhappy, he and Clark find themselves becoming friends and feeling sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> The title is after the amazing All-American Rejects song "I Wanna" which you should definitely check out (mostly because they are my favorite band and that song is perfect).
> 
> This is an AU in a modern setting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark is excited to learn that a boy will be coming to stay with his family for the summer, but the boy is not what he expected.

It was the last day of school, the last day of freshman year, and Clark had just come home at the end of the day and dropped his backpack in his room. "Mom?" he called out. "I'm going to Pete's house. I'll call and let you know if I'll be home for dinner." He headed back to the front door and started to run out, but his mother popped her head out of the kitchen and said, "Slow down, mister." He smiled and closed the door. "Come in here, darlin'. We need to talk to you about something," his mother added.

His mind raced. Was he in trouble? He hadn't done anything wrong... not that he could recall. His dad was sitting at the kitchen table and there was a pitcher of iced tea and a plate of these great lemon rose cookies his mom had made. Something was up. The last time he got lemon rose cookies and iced tea was when they had to tell him that they couldn't afford to let him go on the eighth grade class trip.

"What's up, guys?" he asked casually, slipping into the chair across from his dad. His mom handed him a glass and slid the plate of cookies over to him. "Well, son," his dad began, "We wanted to ask your opinion on something."

Clark munched quietly on a cookie and nodded for him to continue. "Clark, how would you feel if we had someone come and spend the summer with us?" Martha asked, hands crossed in front of her. Clark tilted his head. " _Some_ one?" He laughed. "Did you guys have someone specific in mind, or will any old body do?"

Jonathan laughed and shook his head and Martha simply smiled. "You remember my cousin Julia, don't you?"

Clark furrowed his brows in thought. "Julia. Is she the one who sends the umbrellas every Christmas?" Jonathan shook his head. "No, that's _my_ cousin Jocelyn. Julia is the one who gives donations in the family's name to the World Wildlife Fund or to the American Cancer Society."

"Oh, right," Clark said with a smile. It was hard to keep all the extended relatives straight... especially the ones he never saw. "Cousin Julia wants to come spend the summer with us? That sounds nice."

"Oh, no, sweetheart," Martha said, patting her boy's hand. "She lives in Gotham City, remember? And you see, Julia is a guidance counselor at a school for boys, and she has one boy that's a very special case. He’s had a tough time for these past few years, and she’s worried he’s going to waste his potential. Well, she thinks it'd do him a world of good to spend the summer away from home, get out to the country. She asked if we would be able to take him in for the summer..."

"Son, we know it might be difficult, but we really think we should do this," Jonathan added. "This boy needs some help and guidance... and if we have a chance to offer that to him, we feel we should."

"But we're going to need a lot of help from you if we're going to do this," Martha said. "First of all, you'll have to share a room with him. And we'd also like you to keep him company, show him around and everything. It may inconvenience you a bit. I told Julia that I can't give her an answer until we get your opinion. This is going to be an extra responsibility for you, and we’ll understand if you don’t think you can handle it. If you don't want this, we won't do it. But if you think you could handle it, your father and I both feel this would be the right thing to do."

Clark nodded. There was really nothing to discuss. For one, his parents seemed to really want to do this. For another, they were right... it was the right thing to do. And you know, it could be fun. Maybe like having a little brother. He had always wanted a little brother. He smiled at his parents. "Of course we should do this, you guys. It sounds great, actually."

Martha smiled. "Are you sure?" Clark grinned and nodded. "Of course! It'll be like having a brother for the summer. I'm sure this will be great."

Martha gave her son a little hug around the shoulders and ran off to the phone. "I'll go call Julia now!" Jonathan smiled at his wife and then at his son. He reached across the table to pat his hand gently and said, "We're real proud of you." He smiled at his son and snatched one of the cookies off of the plate in front of him.

Clark spent the next several days thinking about how fun it would be to have a little brother. He and Pete planned a bunch of fun activities they could all do together, and he and Jonathan built a trundle that would fit under Clark's bed, so the boy wouldn't have to sleep on the floor or an air mattress. He felt a little nervous, hoping that the boy would like him, but he figured there was no reason he wouldn't.

Clark was excited when the day finally came when he would meet Bruce Wayne, his new brother for the summer. He was up before the sun and had enough energy to burn that he took a two mile jog. He fidgeted and squirmed through breakfast, took a lightning fast shower, and waited (trying to at least _look_ like he was being patient) until later in the morning, when they would go and pick up Bruce at the bus station.

Finally, at just about 10 o'clock, they got in the truck and drove on to pick up their summer guest.

They waited in the bus station for Bruce. They didn't know what he looked like, and they didn't know if he knew what they looked like, but they waited just the same. Clark was looking for a younger boy, but there was no little brother on that bus for Clark.

Instead, there was a sullen, dour faced young man the same age as him. The boy was wearing tan pants and a blue dress shirt despite the heat (and the fact that he was in fact a teenager and not a middle-aged man in a cubicle), and his black hair fell into his eyes. He didn't look up.

"Hello, son," the Kents said. "Hi," Clark added brightly. Bruce nodded and gave them a very brief, very forced smile and said, "Hello." Bruce tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and grabbed his suitcase. Clark tentatively glanced at his parents and they gave him encouraging smiles. He fell into step beside the strange new boy and stared down at his own feet in tan work boots. He noticed with a small start that the hem of his t-shirt was coming undone. This Bruce kid didn't look like he had ever had a loose thread in his life. He started to say something, but there was literally nothing he could think to say to this strange boy. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him and he blushed slightly and dropped his gaze. Well, that was just silly. He looked back up, but Bruce was staring at the ground again.

Clark couldn't muster any of the bravery he needed to talk to Bruce, who, no matter how many glances he stole, still wasn't what he expected. Clark's parents made small talk with Bruce as they walked back to the truck and climbed in. The boys were pushed fairly close together in the too-tight backseat of the truck's cab.

As they drove away from the bus station, Bruce glanced longingly out the window and muttered, "God, this summer's gonna suck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets better, guys... I promise. =)


	2. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce arrives at the Kent farm and is appalled by everything. Clark is appalled by him being appalled.

"Now, Bruce," Jonathan began as the truck thundered down the highway, "We want you to consider yourself part of the family while you stay with us. You're going to get the same treatment as Clark here." Bruce nodded. "Yes, sir," he said politely but lacking anything more passionate than a vague sense of ennui. He continued to stare out the window so adamantly that Clark looked out as well, wondering if there was something on the road that he was missing. There wasn't. Jonathan and Martha exchanged a silent look and Martha cleared her throat.

"So, Bruce," she began, "You just finished ninth grade, is that right?" He nodded again. "Yes, ma'am." Martha smiled at him through the rearview mirror but he wasn't paying attention. "That's good. You boys are the same age, then. And please, none of this sir and ma'am business, honey. Please call us Jonathan and Martha." Bruce nodded again, but did not say anything.

"You boys will have a lot of fun this summer," Jonathan began. "I'm sure Clark will introduce you to all his friends from school. There are lots of kids around here just your age. You know, there's a swimming hole nearby with the clearest and coolest water, and the boys play baseball every Saturday morning over at Sam Lynn Park. Do you like to play baseball, Bruce?"

"Not particularly, sir," Bruce said flatly. Jonathan nodded and laughed. "Well, that's okay. There will still be plenty to do. Clark has one of those play station things for the TV... if you like video games, you can play with that. Can't he, son?"

Clark turned his head away from the window and nodded. "Uh, yeah. Yes, you can. I mean, it's a PlayStation 2... It’s old and I only have some old games, but they're still fun. We can play sometime... that is, if you like video games." Bruce turned to face him and raised an eyebrow, rather more critically than was necessary, Clark thought. "I suppose I like video games as well as anyone else. I don't usually play them, but they're as valid a way to spend time as anything else you've all mentioned."

Clark furrowed his brows and tried to scoot as far away from the sullen young man next to him as possible. "Whatever," he muttered under his breath, regretting it as soon as he did it. His mother hated the word "whatever." She said it typified the petulance of your average teenager better than any other word in the English language, and Clark wasn't to cop that attitude with anyone. "Clark..." she began warningly, and he cast an apologetic look to her through the mirror. But he knew his mother wanted him to be nice to Bruce, make friends with him. And though he couldn't be less interested, for her he would try.

"We also have a lot of books if you like to read," Clark began. "And I have a bunch of comic books, if you're into that sort of thing. You're welcome to read them, if you like." Bruce nodded. "Uh, thanks." And to his credit, he looked like he was trying, too. But that somehow made Clark feel worse. His stomach sunk a little... because if this apathy was how he tried, he would probably be openly hostile when he stopped trying.

When they got back to the farm, Martha said, "Home sweet home. Here we are, Bruce... your home for the next two months." Bruce got out of the truck and glanced around curiously. Clark could tell the city boy would have liked to explore the farm but wasn't willing to show it. Well, he'd have to offer him a tour later. To be polite, Clark took Bruce's suitcase but he practically had to wrest it from his grip.

They walked in the house and Clark carried Bruce's bag to his bedroom. "You're bunking with me, I think," he said, and it came out rather more shyly than he had intended. Bruce's eyes widened slightly, just momentarily. A slight blush crept onto his cheeks before he could shake his face back into its usual passive expression. "Fine," he said. Bruce followed Clark up the stairs to their room.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, once he saw the room. He glanced around at the relatively small quarters, the twin bed and other homey but polite furnishings, and couldn’t feel more out of place. Clark laughed. "Why would I be kidding?" He pulled the trundle bed out and pointed to it. "That's yours. Mom left clean sheets and a blanket in the closet. You probably won't need the blanket, though. It gets hot in here." Bruce nodded tentatively. This was going to be like one big, overlong sleepover. He hated sleepovers.

"I guess this is going to be like an all summer sleepover, huh?" Clark commented, echoing his thoughts. "I love sleepovers, don't you?"

Bruce forced a smile. _God, this kid must be simple_. "Yeah. Right."

Clark smiled again and said, "Well, if you'd like to unpack now and get it out of the way, I can help you. I cleared a drawer in the dresser and some space in the closet." Bruce shrugged and nodded, shaking hair out of his eye. "Uh, sure." He set his suitcase on the trundle and began pulling out suits and slacks and button down shirts and sweaters. And Clark snickered. Actually snickered.

"Something wrong with my clothes, Kent?" Bruce asked flatly. Clark smiled. "You just look as if you were here for a long string of business meetings instead of..."

And Bruce interrupted him to say, "A long string of inane conversations about video games and baseball and swimming in the _crik_?"

"It's a swimming _hole_ , not a crik," Clark commented, rolling his eyes. "And I'm just letting you know now that you're going to burn up this summer in these clothes." Bruce sighed, exasperated. "And what's it to you?"

"My parents asked me to look after you this summer," Clark said. "If you die of heatstroke the first time we leave the house together, I think my folks will think I made a misstep somewhere along the way." Bruce wrinkled his nose and nodded. "Right. You're going to look after me. That's just swell." He poked Clark in the chest. "Listen, I don't need you or anyone else to look after me, got it? I didn't ask to come here and be your little project."

Clark knocked Bruce's hand away. "Well, I didn't ask to have some brat move into my room for the summer, but you're here now, so we may as well make the best of it," he said, trying to sound bright. Bruce crossed his arms. "And how are we supposed to do that?"

But before Clark could answer, his mom was at the door. "When you boys are done unpacking, why don't you come on downstairs? I made crumb cake." The boys hastily put Bruce's things in the closet and padded down the stairs. Waiting for them at the table were sandwiches and carrot and celery sticks on paper plates in wicker basket paper plate holders.

“I figured you boys would probably appreciate some lunch,” Martha said, pointing at the table for them to take their seats. Clark snuck up behind his mom, who was standing at the counter arranging more carrot sticks on a plate for her husband, and squeezed her. “Classic bait and switch, Mom. Promising cake and then making us eat proper food first,” he said with a smile, snatching one of the carrots.

She playfully pushed her son off of her and said, “Oh, hush. You boys sit down now. There are a couple of bags of chips in the cupboard and a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge.” She put her hand on Clark’s face and kissed his other cheek before walking out of the kitchen. Clark turned back to see Bruce staring at the ground. Odd.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?” Bruce looked up quickly and nodded. “Of course.” Clark shrugged it off and fetched the chips and the pitcher of lemonade. “Can you get some glasses out of the cabinet next to the fridge?” Bruce grabbed the glasses and they sat down across from one another.

They ate silently and avoided eye contact.

“You sure don’t talk much,” Clark commented, sipping his lemonade. Bruce loudly munched a celery stick. “I say what I need to say when I want to say it,” he replied.

Clark rolled his eyes but Bruce didn’t notice. “Well, hurry and finish your lunch. You haven’t lived until you’ve had my mom’s crumb cake. And maybe I can give you a guided tour around the farm after that.”

Bruce shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever.” Clark smiled as he stood up and went to slice the cake. “Don’t let my mom catch you saying that. She hates it.” And Bruce actually gave Clark half a smile then. And it wasn’t fake, nor was it bitter. Clark gave him the bigger piece of cake.

After their dessert, they walked out the back door and headed in the direction of the barn. “That was a good cake,” Bruce commented. “Remind me to thank your mother. Do you think she’d be willing to share the recipe with Alfred?”

“Who’s Alfred?” Clark asked curiously. Bruce thought for a moment, as if he was weighing his words carefully. “He’s the guy who looks after me,” he said with a soft smile.

Clark elbowed him lightly in the rib. “I thought you didn’t need anyone to look after you…?” His face broke into a grin and Bruce reluctantly smiled and rolled his eyes.

Clark led Bruce on a tour around the farm, and neither of them bit the other’s head off. He considered it a personal victory.

When they went back in the house, Jonathan asked, “Did you boys have fun?” They both avoided looking at one another and shrugged. “Sure,” Clark said. “It was fine.”

Jonathan nodded. “Good. Glad to hear that. There’s still quite a while left before dinner… why don’t you go back out and just hang out a little more? Maybe you could catch up with some of the kids or just go swimming?”

Clark nodded. “All right. Sure, Dad. What do you think, Bruce?” Bruce hesitated but eventually shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Sounds fun.”

When they walked out of the house, Bruce grabbed Clark by the t-shirt sleeve. “All right, Kent, we can go play baseball or chase fireflies or raise a barn, or whatever it is you people do out here for fun… anything but swimming.”

A wry smile crossed Clark’s face. “Why? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to swim?” Bruce rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not that. I know how to swim… I just didn’t pack a swimsuit.”

Clark laughed. “God, you city people. You’re not going to need a suit. _Nobody_ wears them out here. C’mon.” He broke into a jog and Bruce followed after him. Okay. This… this was some sort of challenge, surely. And he wouldn’t let Clark outdo him or intimidate him. He could play with the country boys, if he wanted to. He didn’t… but he was going to do it anyways. And later, when he had time to sit and think about it, he would figure out why he was bothering.


	3. Hockey Sticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets Clark's friends at the swimming hole and teases him about Lana.

They went to the swimming hole and no one else was around. Clark undid the laces on his boots and slipped them off. As he was pulling his socks off, he looked at Bruce. "Well? It's hot as hockey sticks out here... aren't you getting in?" He whipped his t-shirt off over his head and dropped it on the ground. Bruce tentatively began to unbutton his shirt as he noticed Clark's broad shoulders and slightly sun-bronzed skin. "Hot as hockey sticks?" Bruce repeated, trying not to focus on the boy next to him. "Who _says_ that?"

Clark rolled his eyes as he dropped his jeans and fell into the cool water in just his underwear. "Hockey sticks, as in H-E-double-hockey-sticks." Bruce folded his shirt and removed his pants. "You're fifteen years old and you can't say hell?"

“I can _say_ whatever I want,” Clark responded indignantly. “I just prefer to say hockey sticks.” Bruce rolled his eyes and got into the water. He had to admit, it was surprisingly cool and clear.

Clark splashed him a few times and he finally splashed back, but Clark ducked underwater first. Bruce shook his head. “That totally defeats the purpose,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. Clark merely grinned and shook his head like a dog, drips of water from his wet black locks spraying Bruce.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Clark asked with a grin. Bruce merely rolled his eyes.

Soon enough, the boys heard voices approaching. There were two kids, both their age. Clark smiled and Bruce watched curiously as they shed their clothes and approached the swimming hole cheerfully. The boy in striped boxers and the girl, a cute redhead, in pink boy shorts and a matching strapless bra waved and grinned. “Clark!” they called out as they jumped in. “Is this the guy who’s staying with you this summer?” the boy asked.

“Yeah, you guys, this is Bruce Wayne,” Clark said importantly. “He’s from Gotham City.” The other two kids waved and said hello to Bruce. “Bruce, this is my best pal Pete… and that’s Lana.” Bruce forced a smile and nodded a greeting to Pete and Lana and gave Clark a knowing glance. Clark raised an eyebrow at him but let it go.

Bruce sat back a way as he watched Clark splash and play with his friends. It was interesting, he thought. They acted like children. They tried to engage him in their splashing games and joking around, but all he could do was offer a forced smile. Was everyone in Kansas this friendly and cheery? That would get old fast. Give him city people any day. They weren’t all as nice, but you knew where you stood with them. None of this forced happiness.

Once their fingers and toes began to wrinkle, they all climbed out of the water and went to stretch out in the sun. Bruce wanted to point out that none of them were wearing sunscreen and should take shelter, but he reminded himself that he had said he could keep up with the country boys, and that’s what he would do.

Clark flopped down and sighed happily under the sun and Bruce sat on the ground next to him and hugged his knees up to his chest. Pete gave Bruce a friendly smile and sat next to him. Pete started talking politely, mentioning baseball a few times. Bruce wasn’t really listening. He was watching Lana, lying on her stomach, edging closer to Clark with each word either of them said.

Clark was on his back on the grass and Bruce noticed that Lana was probably a bit closer to him than was necessary. “Are you going to come out and play baseball tomorrow, Clark?” she asked, her hand reaching out and grazing Clark’s arm.

What _was_ it about these people and baseball?

“Um, I don’t know,” Clark began, tentatively glancing at Bruce. “Would you mind?”

Bruce shook his head. Not only was he not going to keep Clark from playing baseball, but he was going to go, too. “No, not at all… sounds _great_ , actually,” he said. “I could go for some baseball.” He could consider it a fact finding mission.

“Okay,” Clark said. “Yeah. We’ll be there.” Lana grinned. “Good! I mean, you know you’re the best pitcher out of everyone.” Clark blushed slightly. “Aww, Lana…” he sighed and smiled. Bruce rolled his eyes.

Soon Lana had to leave, and all three boys watched appreciatively as she wriggled into her yellow sundress and jogged off in the opposite direction. “Do you wanna come and hang out with us at my house, Pete?” Clark asked. Pete picked up his pants and then pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Naw, I can’t, Clark. Gotta get home. But maybe tomorrow after the ball game, yeah?”

Clark nodded. “Sure. Sounds great. We should probably get home, too, now that you mention it.” He grabbed his clothes. “C’mon, Bruce.” They waved to Pete as he left, and Clark pulled his jeans back on and tossed his t-shirt haphazardly over his shoulder. Bruce dressed slowly and carefully and Clark silently watched him. Clark’s gaze had the opposite effect of the one he intended, because Bruce began to move even more slowly. Clark eventually averted his eyes.

They began to walk back to the Kent farm in silence, but Bruce kept giving Clark a look that was beginning to annoy him. “What?” he finally demanded. “Why do you have that smug look on your face, Bruce Wayne?”

He laughed once.  “No reason.  Just… Lana.” Clark’s brows furrowed. “What about her?  Do you… do you like her, or something?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Oh, please! Not me. _You_. Is she your girlfriend?”

“What?” Clark squeaked, blushing instantly. “No.   _No_.  I… she… we…” Bruce laughed again, quite heartily and Clark’s face burned.  Bruce elbowed him in the rib and said, “Oh, man.  You _are_ the smooth one.  But tell me you don’t know that girl is in love with you?”

Clark looked away, still blushing. “Can we change the subject?” Bruce grinned, a bit sadistically. “Did I strike a nerve?” Clark rolled his eyes and looked at Bruce. “Hey, I’ll race you home!” he called as he took off in a jog. Bruce ran after him, feeling a bit lighter than he had in some time.

The boys ran home and when Martha saw that Bruce looked a little flushed, she insisted he go upstairs and take a nap. “Oh, no, Mrs. Kent. I’m fine,” Bruce pleaded. “Really. I’ve had plenty of rest.” Martha smiled and gently put her hand on Bruce’s check. “I told you to call me Martha… and no arguments, young man. Go rest.” He reluctantly trudged up the stairs, noticing to his own consternation that Clark was giving him a very immature, triumphant look.

Once he was in Clark’s room, Bruce took a look at himself in the mirror over Clark’s dresser. He untucked his shirt and slicked his hair back. It was no use… he couldn’t really make himself look like he belonged in Smallville. And no, he didn’t want to stick out. He had his debit card in his wallet… maybe if he could get into town he could buy some more appropriate clothes and find a barber. But the Kents would probably ask a lot of questions. He hadn’t asked Alfred or that busybody guidance counselor if the Kents knew about his… financial situation. It was bound to be awkward.

He slipped his Italian leather loafers off and stretched out on the trundle bed. He wasn’t particularly tired, so he just sort of stared up at the ceiling. Somewhere between the crumb cake and the race back to the farm, he had accepted the fact that he was going to be stuck here for the summer so – and this he grudgingly admitted – Clark was right… he may as well make the best of it. That Clark kid was a little too good, a little too nice. It was hard to trust a person who was just that _good_ and wasn’t working an angle. But at least he would know where he stood with him.

Hopefully.

And then, think of the devil, Clark crept in the doorway and walked over to the bookshelf. Clearly he hadn’t noticed that Bruce wasn’t asleep, so he squeezed his eyes almost shut and tried to watch him sneakily. But he couldn’t stop himself from laughing when he saw the book that Clark pulled. It was Rudyard Kipling’s _The Jungle Book_ , and the cover had a beautiful illustration of Baloo and Bagheera.

The sound of Bruce’s laugh made Clark jump almost spastically. “Jesus!” He put his hand over his heart. “Why did you pretend to be asleep?”

Bruce ignored his question. “You know, I read that when I was nine.” Clark shrugged. “Yeah, and _I_ read it the first time when I was seven. I like it.” Clark wanted to sit on his bed with his book, but it would have been a bit awkward to climb up there now with Bruce’s trundle in the way. So he sat at his desk chair instead, and to be polite, he swiveled around in Bruce’s direction.

Bruce sat up and watched Clark a moment as he began to read the book’s foreword. Then he reached for his backpack and pulled out his laptop. “I don’t suppose you have wi-fi,” he said drily.

Clark sighed. “We do, actually. This is Kansas, not… the ‘90s.” And Bruce tried to suppress the smile that was threatening to creep onto his lips. He went online and checked all his social networking sites and raised an eyebrow at Clark. “You are being so quiet that it’s actually unnerving. This must be the first time you’ve shut up today.”

“Maybe I’m not in the mood to talk to people who taunt me,” Clark said flatly.

Bruce sighed. “Oh, come on, Kent. I was just kidding you about Lana. Don’t you know how to take a joke?”

“Sure,” Clark said. “From my _friends_.” Bruce nodded and raised an eyebrow. Okay, maybe he was wrong about how nice this kid was. “Well, that rules me out, then.” Clark raised his glance from his book and had an expression that was some cross between horrified and apologetic. He shook his head quickly.

“Oh, Bruce, I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean… it’s just…”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I _get_ it.”

“No, I was wrong,” Clark said. “You _were_ a jerk earlier, but that doesn’t excuse my rudeness. I just… it’s weird between me and Lana.”

“Weird how?” Bruce asked, perking slightly.

“Well,” Clark began, closing his book and setting it on his desk. “She’s not my girlfriend, but we do sort of go together, if you know what I mean. And, well, I like her and I suppose she likes me, but I don’t really know that I want to have a girlfriend. The whole dating thing makes me nervous.”

Bruce nodded. “And how far have you, y’know, gone with her?” Clark smiled and looked away. “I’m… not telling you that.”

“Didn’t you want a brother?” Bruce asked, laughing. “Isn’t that the sort of stuff brothers talk about?”

And just then, “Boys!” Jonathan called. “Dinner’s ready!” They got up and Bruce poked Clark between the shoulder blades and said, “Saved by the chow bell.” The boys bounded down the stairs and sat at the table with Clark’s parents. Martha served meatloaf, mashed potatoes with tomato gravy, spinach, and brown bread she baked in a coffee can. After she had piled the four plates high with food, Bruce lifted his fork, but he felt Clark’s hand grab his. They both felt a slight and confusing charge and longed to pull away, but Jonathan was saying Grace, and it would be rude to make a scene about holding a person’s hand at a time like that. As soon as the prayer was over and they had both mumbled Amen, they snatched their hands apart and scooted their chairs away from each other. Bruce made a mental note to try not to sit next to Clark at the next family meal.

When dinner was over, the boys both ate pieces of Martha’s famous rhubarb pie in front of the TV while Jonathan and Martha sat out on the porch swing. When they went up to bed, Jonathan said, “Now, you boys don’t stay up too late.” He and Martha exchanged a smile, obviously pleased that the boys were getting along.

After a bit more television, the boys went up to bed as well. Clark, for someone so shy about some things, was in no way modest about his body. He stripped down to his underwear for the second time that day and hopped onto his bed. Bruce thought about excusing himself to change in the bathroom, but he figured that would give Clark license to tease him about being a “city boy.” He surveyed Clark in his blue boxer briefs and raised an eyebrow as he pulled on the brand new pajamas Alfred had bought him. “Don’t tell me none of you country people wear pajamas, either.”

Clark laughed. “No, we do. It’s just too hot for them now. But you’re welcome to sleep in whatever you like.” He relaxed on the bed and waited for Bruce to get himself situated. He had put the pajama bottoms on but he left his chest bare.

“Dude, why are you staring at me like that?” he asked self-consciously. And Clark sighed heavily. “I’m waiting for you to turn the light out so we can go to sleep.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, with a slight smile. He went and flipped the switch off and sunk into his bed. And even on the trundle below Clark’s bed, Bruce could feel an unnatural amount of heat emanating from his body. And then, after not too long, he heard Clark’s breathing settle into a rhythmic pattern. Stupid country boy. In the darkness, Bruce stared at his own hand and remembered the odd way he had felt when Clark took his hand at dinner. He sighed in frustration and flipped his laptop open again. The light from the screen didn’t even disturb Clark. With nothing else to do, Bruce began to compose an email.

  
_Dear Alfred,_

_I’m in Kansas. And I know it’s just another state, and not even that far from home, but I feel like I’m on another planet. The Kents are very nice and are trying to make me feel at home, but it’s not so easy to think of such a strange place as home. But I’m trying, Alfred. I’m trying to make you proud. I won’t be a burden on you anymore, or at the very least, not for the next two months._

_Yours,_   
_Bruce_

  
And Bruce was asleep by the time Alfred’s reply came, but it was the first email he would read the next day.

  
_Master Bruce,_

_You, sir, are many things to me, but, as you must know by now, a burden is not one of them. I have every confidence that you will rise to this challenge as you have countless others in your young life. Please take this time away as a vacation. Be a child again… it’s been far too long since you were one._

_Faithfully,_   
_Alfred Pennyworth_


	4. City Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an eventful morning of chores, Bruce and Clark play baseball. Later, Bruce continues his research in a different way.

“Hey, lazy bones, get up,” Clark said loudly, shaking Bruce’s shoulder roughly. Bruce rolled onto his side and his eyes fluttered open. The sun wasn’t even up. It was so early and Clark was so insistent that his sleep hazed mind told him that the only possible explanation was that the house was on fire.

“What? What’s the matter?” Bruce demanded, voice leaden and not as menacing as he intended.

Clark sighed. “Nothing is the matter. It’s just that it’s almost six o’clock. We’re supposed to be down at breakfast at six so that we can start chores by six thirty.” Bruce sat up, pulling his sheet up high around his bare chest. “Wait, what?” He wasn’t sure which part he objected to more – six AM or chores.

“You’re one of the family,” Clark said with a playful smile. “And that means you have chores, just like the rest of us.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “You’re nuts. Downgrade me from brother to roommate and catch me in a couple of hours.” He snuggled back into bed, but Clark was persistent.

He nudged Bruce’s bare shoulder with his bare foot. “C’mon, city boy! Get up, get up, get up!” Bruce buried his face in his pillow and Clark rudely sat on his legs and grabbed his own pillow and hit him with it. “I’m not leaving until you get up,” Clark said in a singsong voice, hitting him again with the pillow. Bruce grumbled and Clark giggled as Bruce pushed him to the floor, but he did finally get up. He slunk into the bathroom and washed up briefly.

By the time he came out of the bathroom, Clark was waiting impatiently, wearing tan cargo shorts, a faded Nirvana t-shirt, and Converse. Bruce sighed, and went back into their room. He went to the closet and withdrew a brown linen shirt with a subtle pattern woven into the textile and his most casual slacks, which were a slightly darker version of the ones he had worn the day before. He turned around to get fresh underwear and socks from his drawer and saw that Clark was, of course, standing there. He was always just standing there, looking at him with that big, dopey smile and that annoyingly friendly face. Just standing there watching Bruce, as if he found him interesting.

Bruce sighed. “You’re really going to watch me dress?” Clark rolled his eyes. “Get over yourself. I was going to offer to let you borrow something to wear. Wouldn’t want you to muss your fancy things.”

“My _fancy_ things are fine, thank you,” Bruce said irritably. Clark shook his head and laughed. “Suit yourself, city boy.” Clark turned and left.

After he was fully dressed, right down to his Italian loafers, Bruce found his roommate again a few moments later at the table with his parents. _Between_ his parents, to be more accurate. Ahh. No hand holding this morning. Good. He walked over to the cabinet, grabbed a mug, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took it black. “Ahh,” he sighed, taking a long drink.

“Ahem,” Martha cleared her throat and gave Jonathan a look, so he stood up, walked over to Bruce, and took the coffee from him. “Coffee is just for the grownups, son,” he said. He poured the cup out and Bruce watched it rush down the drain, wishing he could somehow follow it. “You may have milk or juice. Or both, if you’re like Clark.” He glanced over at Clark, who was indeed smiling – or, actually, smirking – with a glass of apple juice as well as a glass of milk positioned in front of him.

After a breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and fresh fruit, the Kents all swung into action doing the daily business of running the farm. Bruce followed Clark out to the barn and helped him tend to the animals. He was trying hard not to show how much of a city boy he was and not admit that he found it a bit disgusting and dirty.

And it was while he was trying to be rugged that it happened. He tripped over a bucket and fell on his butt in the pigpen. Clark found this quite funny. He was still laughing so hard that he was shaking as he reached his hand out and helped Bruce get up. “Oh, real funny, Kent,” he grumbled, reluctantly taking his hand. “Keep laughing.” He wanted to say that his clothes were probably ruined, but they didn’t matter to him. He had plenty more, and he didn’t want to give Clark more ammunition.

“You better go in and change,” Clark finally said when he had stopped laughing. “We can ask my mom to throw those things in the washer.” Bruce tried to dust himself off, but it was of little use. “It’s fine. The pants are dry clean only anyways.”

Clark studied him for a moment and then said, “You know what? Come with me.” He walked back into the house and Bruce followed him up the stairs. In the hallway between Clark’s room and the bathroom with a trap door you could pull down and it led to the attic. Clark climbed the little ladder and Bruce followed him.

“What are we doing again?” he asked. Clark scratched his head and looked around the attic, which was piled with boxes, old trunks, and mementos of tons of family memories that gave Bruce the tiniest pang of jealousy.

“I’m looking for my old clothes from before my last growth spurt,” Clark said, opening a nearby box and discovering it to be full of fabric scraps Martha had collected for quilting. “My old things should fit you just fine… I can’t stand seeing you walk around like the junior executive for one more day.” He opened another box, which was full of some old toys. He pocketed a couple of Lego men and kept searching.

“I don’t need hand-me-downs,” Bruce protested. “My clothes are fine. They don’t bother me.”

“Ahh,” Clark said, finding a couple of boxes worth of t-shirts, jeans, shorts, and plaid things. At the bottom of one box were a couple of pairs of boots and a pair of beat up Converse. Clark gave Bruce a half-smile. “Just take the clothes, will you? Trust me… you’ll be more comfortable in these things.” Bruce grumbled under his breath but did eventually agree to take them. They went back downstairs and Bruce changed into a pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt.

Clark smiled. “There you go! You look great. I’d hardly take you for a –“ And Bruce finished the thought by saying, “A city boy.” And Clark had to laugh.

“You’ll fit right in at the baseball game,” Clark commented. Bruce swore under his breath. He had almost forgotten. Clark pulled a couple of baseball caps out of his closet and handed one to Bruce. “Pete should be here in about fifteen minutes to pick us up,” Clark continued.

And true to Clark’s word, Pete Ross soon roared up in what could only charitably be described as his “car.” It was more of an old jalopy that Pete and Clark and a couple of other boys had fixed up over a number of weekends. Bruce was genuinely surprised that the Kents allowed Clark to ride in that thing. But Martha waved at Pete from the porch and kissed both Clark and Bruce on the cheek as they ran out the door. “Have fun, boys!” she called. Bruce smiled and put his hand on his cheek as he walked away. He didn’t get kissed on his cheek often… it just took him a bit by surprise. That was all. He tried not to let it show, though. The boys got into Pete’s car and roared off in the direction of the park with the baseball diamond.

About ten other boys and six girls were at the park when Pete, Clark, and Bruce arrived. Clark introduced Bruce to all his friends and he memorized the string of names he was fed – Greg, Logan, Max, Mike, Trevor, Chris, Adam, Zack, Hector, Teddy, Liz, Abby, Stacey, Paris, Chrissy, and finally, Lana. Clark always saved Lana for last. Bruce had noticed. Lana, Stacey, and Paris all sat in the stands while Liz, Abby, Chrissy and the boys chose sides. Chrissy (a short, lean, and tough-as-nails brunette with a pixie cut) and Pete were the captains of the two teams. Pete picked first, and he chose Clark, naturally. But everyone was surprised when Chrissy chose Bruce.

Bruce’s team came up to bat first and Clark was the pitcher. He easily struck out the first two batters, but the third was Bruce. And he was determined to get a hit. The first pitch was a strike. The second was a ball. Then he got another strike. Bruce was ready to make a homerun, ready to beat Clark, when the next pitch hit him in the shoulder.

“You did that on purpose so you’d have to walk me!” Bruce growled. And Clark laughed. “Oh, come on. Why would I want to walk you? I was one strike away from getting you out and my team going to bat. Why would I want you on base?”

“Because you knew I was going to score!” Bruce shot back. “Walk, Bruce!” Clark yelled. Bruce dropped the bat and grumbled to himself as he jogged to first base. He and Clark exchanged angry expressions before the next batter came up and Clark easily struck him out.

Once Bruce’s team was out in the field, he tried to put the scene with Clark out of his mind. He paid attention to the fact that Clark didn’t make a single movement, even if it was to scratch his knee or straighten his hat, that wasn’t met by an enthusiastic cheer from Lana. And Bruce felt… odd… about that. He felt odd about Lana in general. What was it about her? He determined to set it out of his mind. He’d only pay enough attention to Lana to tease Clark about her later.

The game crawled on and Bruce lost interest after the third inning. He played to the best of his ability, of course, and he scored a run each of his next two at-bats, but they didn’t matter so much. Clark wasn’t pitching anymore. He scored runs each time he came to bat as well, and by the time the game was (finally) over, they had both almost forgotten that they were mad at each other earlier. Almost.

After the baseball game broke up, Pete drove Clark and Bruce home and the three of them went inside and ate sandwiches of leftover meatloaf and washed them down with lemonade and pieces of crumb cake. After playing a few sets on Rock Band, Pete had to go home. Another of Martha’s heavy dinners had Bruce wondering how Clark was so fit, and after dessert, the three men of the family sat in front of the television in a food coma.

The boys dragged themselves upstairs and Clark collapsed onto his bed, still fully dressed. Bruce went and stood in front of the mirror and started trying to fix his hair back like all the guys at the baseball game. “You never did tell me about you and Lana,” he said, debating if his hair looked neater with or without a part.

“I wasn’t planning on telling you,” Clark said with a smile. He propped himself up on one elbow and watched Bruce fuss with his hair. “It’s still black and too long,” Clark commented. “Why are you staring at yourself so hard? You’re not going to look any different…”

Bruce wrinkled his nose. “Do you think I should get my hair cut?” Clark sat all the way up and tilted his head. “Isn’t that the sort of thing you’d typically ask someone whose opinion you trusted?” He gave him a playful grin and added, “Like, y’know, a friend.”

Bruce turned to face him. “Well, since no one like that is around here, I hate to say this, but you might be the closest I’ve got…” And there it was again. An odd feeling. He wouldn’t look at Clark.

But Clark stood up and walked up close to him. Bruce lowered his head slightly and closed his eyes as he felt Clark’s hand muss his hair. His head snapped up and he looked critically at Clark with one eyebrow raised. Clark merely smiled and let out a breath that Bruce hadn’t noticed the taller boy had been holding in. “I already said it’s too long,” he said playfully. “I’d get it cut if I were you. In fact, I could do it for you right now if you want…”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. No way. You are not coming near my hair.” Clark grinned. “Oh, come on. I cut my own hair and it looks fine, doesn’t it?”

“That’s debatable,” Bruce quipped. Clark rolled his eyes and gave him a little shove to the shoulder. “C’mon, you jerk.”

Bruce eyed the taller boy and sighed heavily. “If I let you give me a haircut,” he began with a slight shudder, “will you finally tell me about you and Lana?” Clark groaned. "Why do you want to know so bad?" And Bruce shrugged, trying to look innocent. He wasn't sure why he needed to know so badly, but he knew he did. Somewhere along the way, he had developed a deep desire to figure Clark out, and ever since he had first seen Clark and Lana together, he just... had to know what was really between them. Like if he figured out that relationship, he’d have Clark figured out. He could have tried to find things out for himself, watch them and figure it out, but Clark was so shy where this girl business was concerned that there was nothing to see. If he was going to get any information, he'd have to make Clark volunteer it... and that might mean giving him what he wanted. "Well," Bruce began, "I guess I'm just curious... about you. I'm... being... friendly?" It didn't sound very natural, but that was the best he could do.

Clark sighed and reached into his desk drawer for a pair of scissors. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell you whatever you so desperately need to know.”

“And you’re sure you know what you’re doing?” Bruce asked. “And should you be using those scissors? Aren’t they for paper?” Clark sighed again. “I said I know what I’m doing. Now, come on, sit in my desk chair. Or no, wait… pull it here in front of the mirror and it’ll be like a barber shop.” Bruce pulled the chair in front of the dresser and sat down, casting Clark an apprehensive glance. It wasn’t too late to tell Clark to stop. He could go to a real barber in the morning or anytime. He could have a hair specialist (if there was such a thing) flown in from France or Spain or…anywhere… so why were there scissors in the hand of a fifteen year old boy? Did he really need to know about Clark and Lana that badly? Or... maybe he hoped in a weird way that the haircut would come out wrong. Maybe he’d like to not look groomed and perfect and rich.

But Clark snipped carefully and began to talk, so Bruce listened and tried not to think. “Well, about Lana… I guess she’s like my best friend, after Pete that is. And, well, I guess I have feelings for her.” Bruce sighed. “I know that much.”

“Right,” Clark said, continuing to cut at Bruce’s hair. “Well, she was my first kiss… and we’ve gone to some dances together. We’re going to another one next month.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “There are dances in the summer? If you tell me it’s a barn raising, I swear to God I’ll give you a hundred dollars.” Clark laughed. “It’s at the community center and it’s sponsored by the SYPAS.”

“SYPAS?” Bruce asked. Clark nodded. “Yep. The Smallville Young People’s Agricultural Society.”

Bruce laughed. “This town gets better and better.”

“Anyways,” Clark continued pointedly, “Lana and I, we’ve sort of… fooled around a few times… and ever since, she keeps looking at me like she expects me to propose or something.”

“Wait… you slept with her?” Bruce asked incredulously.

Clark sighed. “You don’t have to sound so shocked. And _no_ … we didn’t go that far. I mean, I’ve never… we just… I guess you’d call it second base.”

“That’s not exactly serious,” Bruce commented. Clark rolled his eyes. “Well, it is if that’s as far as you’ve ever gone with anyone. I just don’t want to be a jerk about it. I don’t want to… I don’t know… lead her on. I don’t know if I’m ready to be anyone’s boyfriend. Or maybe I’m just not ready to be _her_ boyfriend. I don’t know.” Clark continued cutting Bruce’s hair in silence for a while. Finally, he said, “You know, I think Chrissy liked you.”

Bruce laughed. “Just because she picked me for her team…”

“No, because she pulled me aside and asked me if you were single,” Clark said. “She also said you were cute.”

“Did she really?” Bruce asked. Clark smiled. “She really did,” he said.

“What did you tell her?” Bruce asked. Clark shrugged, already bored (and perhaps the tiniest bit annoyed) by the subject, he said, “I told her she ought to ask Mr. Cute and Moody herself. That’s you, by the way.” And then, deciding that Bruce’s haircut was finished, he added, “And I bet she’ll think you’re even cuter now.” Clark ran his fingers through Bruce’s shorter locks, telling himself he was merely straightening his hair. He held his breath again as he waited for Bruce’s reaction (whether to the haircut or to that near caress, he wasn’t entirely sure).

Ignoring those fingers, Bruce stood up tentatively and turned to see his reflection in the mirror. Clark didn’t mess up his hair. It looked fine. Pretty good, actually. It was shorter and neater and would certainly help with the summer heat. “Thanks,” Bruce said softly. Clark nodded and said, “You know, I better go get the broom and sweep this hair up.”

Bruce looked at himself in the mirror and tried the baseball cap on. With the clothes Clark had given him and his short hair, he’d really fit in. Especially if he got a bit more tan, which he no doubt would.

When Clark got back with the broom, he swept the hair up quickly and then, checking the clock, he said, “We’d better go to bed. I’m exhausted. Aren’t you?” Bruce nodded. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Clark stripped down to his underwear again and climbed onto his bed. And Bruce hesitated for a moment before stripping down to his underwear as well and flipping off the light switch. He thought he saw Clark giving him an odd look just before the light went out, but… no. At least he didn’t think.

“I hope you don’t get cold,” Clark said teasingly.

“Shut up, Kent,” Bruce responded, trying to sound more annoyed than he felt.


	5. Friendship in Little Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce settles into farm life and he and Clark finally admit that they're becoming... friends.

A few weeks passed, and Bruce settled into the routine on the farm. Up at 5:30 (try and beat Clark to the shower), breakfast at 6:00, chores at 6:30. After chores, he and Clark would read, play video games, or go swimming. Some days Clark would lead him to see new places in the countryside, all close enough to go on foot, and they would pack a lunch and eat it under the warm sun. In the hottest part of the afternoon, they’d make snow cones with the Snoopy snow cone maker Martha had bought at a yard sale when Clark was eight and flavor them with cans of root beer. Once a week they went to the library in town and checked out books and read old issues of National Geographic at the corner table in the periodical section. Afterwards they stopped in the ice cream parlor for black and whites, which they would eat slowly, soaking up as much air conditioning as they could. Saturdays they played baseball (though Bruce gradually transitioned from player to spectator) and hung out with Pete. Sundays the family went to church, Martha straightening the boys’ ties and Jonathan making sure they each had a dollar for the collection plate. After dinner every evening, they either watched TV or a movie with Clark’s parents as a family or played board games. Sometimes they talked before they went to bed at night, and sometimes they listened to music playing low while they sat behind their laptops and argued over whose iTunes contained better playlists. Sometimes when the lights were out, they talked about things that just seemed silly in the daylight, and sometimes Bruce teased Clark about Lana, though his heart wasn’t in it anymore.

Sometimes when they were at the swimming hole, Lana and Chrissy would show up. Lana flirted and fawned over Clark, and Chrissy antagonized Bruce while also trying to make sure that he noticed how cute she was. As Bruce started to ignore Lana’s existence completely, Clark became unable to resist rolling his eyes at Chrissy’s machinations.

With each day, Clark found it easier to understand Bruce’s moods. When he was just pretending to be grumpy, Clark broke him down and made him laugh. When he really was in one of his moods, Clark gave him just enough space to brood, but not so much that he wouldn’t be there if Bruce needed him.

They both sort of decided that being at odds and challenging one another was too much effort, and, frankly, with the amount of time they spent together, not getting along got boring.

In short, they became friends.

They hadn’t argued anymore. They occasionally bickered about little things, but those moments passed and there was never any anger behind them. The last time they had been angry with one another was Bruce’s fourth morning on the farm. He was still irritable about being up so early and being denied caffeine, and Clark had managed to push the wrong button without meaning to or even realizing it.

“Ugh,” Bruce had groaned. “Would you just… just go somewhere? We’ve spent every waking moment together… I can’t stand the sight of you. You make me want to jump out a window.” Clark scrunched his face in response to the unwarranted attack. “God, Bruce! It’s only been like three days, and you haven’t made them three easy days. Can you just stop being such an ass?” And he was lucky that his mother wasn’t in the room at the moment, because his father had simply scolded, “Watch your mouth, young man,” over the top of his coffee cup. And by way of apology, Bruce had actually tried to be nice for the rest of that day.

Most days, they were just content together. They became used to one another, and though neither of them would admit it, they grew to enjoy each other’s company more than they ever expected to.

They reached a point where glances went from playful to meaningful and each fleeting bit of contact left their skin tingling. Was that really a part of friendship? Well, Bruce couldn’t really afford to dwell on it, and Clark quickly taught himself to ignore it.

One day, Clark decided to show Bruce the one place on the farm he hadn’t included in his tour of the place. It was his own special spot, his fortress of solitude. It was the hayloft in the barn. His telescope was up there and he liked to go there for privacy and to think. He had never even taken Pete up there. But he felt that he could take Bruce, because no one he knew would appreciate a quiet thinking place the way Bruce would. The more he thought about how his fortress was the only place that was just his, the more he wanted to let Bruce in, and Bruce was ready to follow him.

It was near twilight and the boys had sat down in the sweet smelling hay and Clark told Bruce about how his father had given him this place. “It was right after they told me that I was adopted,” Clark concluded. He hadn’t mentioned to Bruce before then that the Kents weren’t his biological parents because he kind of hated to talk about it. He didn’t know anything about his natural parents and it worried him to think of them and what sort of people they might be. And he certainly didn’t like talking about them with other kids, because they either asked a bunch of dumb questions or made some dumb comment about wishing they could trade their own parents in.

But Bruce didn’t do or say anything like that.

He just nodded. “You’re lucky,” he said. “Your birth parents, whoever they are, there’s no way they could be better than your _real_ parents here.” Clark smiled and nodded, feeling a little charge at the fact this his friend understood. “Yeah. That’s how I feel.” Bruce had a faraway look on his face as they leaned against the red wooden panels, their shoulders almost touching and the toes of their scuffed Converse sneakers meeting. “You’ve never said anything about your family,” Clark commented. “Besides Alfred, that is.”

Bruce hesitated. “He’s… Alfred is all there is, really.” He waited a moment before going on. “My parents… they’re gone. They died when I was little.” He didn’t give details. Hated to give details.

Clark glanced down at his hands. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. I’m sorry.” Bruce shrugged. This conversation was always awkward. No one ever knew what to say to him, and he didn’t know how to respond to their condolences. He was desperate to change the subject.

But he didn’t have to. Clark could tell. “Maybe we could sleep up here some night,” he said simply. And Bruce nodded. “Sure. We should do that.” Clark gently nudged him with his shoulder and he didn’t push him away.

“You know, I think Chrissy is hoping you’ll ask her to the SYPAS dance,” Clark began, not entirely sure why he was pushing the issue so. This wasn’t the first time they had had this conversation. “We could double… you and me, and Lana and Chrissy.”

“You mean you and Lana, and Chrissy and me,” Bruce corrected with a smirk. Clark smiled. “Oh, you know what I mean!” Bruce laughed and nudged Clark’s shoulder again.

“Do you really think I should ask her?” Bruce asked. “Well,” Clark began, “Do you like her?”

Bruce thought for a moment. “I don’t know. She is pretty, though.” Clark nodded and contemplated that. He had never really paid attention before, but Chrissy _was_ pretty. He glanced over at Bruce and saw that he was still thinking, so he grabbed a handful of hay and threw it at him. And Bruce laughed and pushed him over and stuffed a handful of hay down the back of his shirt.

They slept that night in the hayloft.

A couple of mornings later, the boys were sitting at the kitchen table and reading the newspaper. Clark was poring over the headlines on the front page and Bruce was reading the business section as they ate cookies and drank milk. Bruce still couldn’t get over the fact that mothers actually did things like serve cookies with milk and give out kisses on the cheek and call big, practically full grown men “her boys.” But he had to admit that he liked that Martha did these things for him as well as Clark.

Neither boy looked up from the newspaper when there was a knock at the door. But when Martha went to the door, they heard a voice say, “Martha, we want to see the Wayne boy.” Clark and Bruce exchanged a glance and went and stood in the kitchen doorway, peeping around the corner into the front room. Clark immediately recognized the three people who had barged into the house as reporters from the local paper. He shot Bruce a worried look and tugged at his t-shirt sleeve. Once he had Bruce’s attention, he motioned that they should leave out the backdoor, but before they could make their escape they were noticed.

“Oh, there he is,” the first reporter exclaimed. “We just couldn’t believe it when Mrs. Ross said that Bruce _Wayne_ was staying right here in our town.” They rushed over to him. One of them pulled out a camera and started snapping photos. One of them shoved a microphone attached to a tape recorder in his face, and the third one started asking questions rapidly. Clark watched Bruce’s eyes grow wide and his chest heave slightly as he stood silently and let them demand answers about his parents, his inheritance, the business he would be expected to run in a few short years, and the behavioral problems that had gotten him expelled from more than one school.

And then Bruce backed away slowly before turning and running out the back door. Clark watched his friend, tempted to run after him but fully aware that Bruce would just push him away. He turned to the reporters, anger blazing in his eyes. “You should all be ashamed,” he said heavily and seriously. He didn’t raise his voice, but it had taken on an almost menacing edge. He wanted to make these reporters, and Pete’s gossipy mother, pay for what they had done to Bruce. Bruce was his friend and his guest, and he was supposed to look after him, yet he had allowed these people to hurt him anyways.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” Clark heard his father say. He wasn’t paying attention, though. He was looking out the window over the kitchen sink, trying to see if he could spot Bruce.

“Go check on him,” Martha said. “He’ll need a friend.” And though Clark was sure Bruce wouldn’t want his company, he knew his mother had a point. He should be there in case Bruce _did_ want company.

Clark walked out the back door and instinctively headed to the barn. He couldn’t imagine that Bruce would have gone anywhere else, so he wasn’t surprised to see him sitting in the corner of the hayloft, hugging his knees to his chest, head down. Clark went and sat silently next to him, not forcing him to talk.

After a few minutes, Bruce looked up slightly, just enough for Clark to see that he had tears in his eyes. “This is embarrassing,” he mumbled.

Clark shook his head. “No. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’d have reacted the same way.” Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. “You know, I don’t _do_ this, Clark.” And Clark just nodded as Bruce sniffled.

When he finally looked up, Clark reached over and wiped a single tear away with his thumb. Bruce’s mouth fell open slightly and he had to look away. Clark drew his hand back quickly.

“Aren’t you mad?” Bruce asked.

Clark sighed. “Of course. I’m _pissed_ , actually. I mean, they had no right to come in here and harass you like that. I’m really sorry… I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything or couldn’t stop them.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and looked up at him. “You really are unbelievable, you know that? I was asking if you were mad at _me_.”

“At you?” Clark asked. “Why should I be mad at you?”

Bruce sighed. “Because I didn’t tell you about who my parents were… that I’m from _that_ Wayne family and I’m richer than God.” Clark shook his head. “I don’t care about any of that stuff, Bruce. I know all I need to know… I know that you’re my friend.”

_You’re my friend_. It was a statement of fact, but it gave Bruce a strange feeling he couldn’t quite describe. There was something about Clark… that earnest way he looked at him sometimes… that made Bruce feel odd and warm at the same time. Clark really _was_ unbelievable… almost too good to be real.

And words failed Bruce, as they so often did. The only thing he could think of to show Clark how he felt was to rest his head gently on his friend’s shoulder. Bruce wasn’t a person who was given to showing affection by touching or any other way, really, so this was a major effort on his part. And Clark recognized that. He rested his head gently on Bruce’s and they sat like that for quite some time. Clark was grateful because he understood Bruce’s gesture, and he knew what it meant.

To Bruce, the contact felt foreign and made him uncomfortable… and he never wanted the moment to pass.

“Bruce?” Clark asked quietly after some time. Bruce blinked his eyes, which were finally dry and glanced up at Clark as casually as he could. “Hm?” Clark cleared his throat. “I’m never going to let something like that happen again,” he said. “That’s a promise, okay?” And he held his pinky out to Bruce.

“What’s that for?” he asked, slightly amused. Clark sighed and linked his pinky with Bruce’s. “Don’t you know anything? It’s a pinky promise. And it’s actually impossible to break a pinky promise. That’s a scientific fact.”

“Ahh,” Bruce said, hooking his pinky securely around Clark’s. “You really do learn something every day.”


	6. Their Own Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce are left alone for the weekend. There are feelings. There are girls. There are popcicles.

About a week after the news broke about Bruce’s identity, Jonathan and Martha had to go to Olathe for the weekend to take care of a sick cousin of Jonathan’s.  Martha insisted at first that the boys come with them.

“We can’t leave you alone for two whole days,” she said, shaking her head.  “Oh, Mom,” Clark began.  “We’ll be fine.  We’re fifteen… we can take care of ourselves for one weekend.”  He looked to Jonathan for support, and he seemed to be mulling things over.

“You know, Martha, these _are_ two of the most responsible boys I know,” he began.  “I suppose we can trust them by themselves for one weekend.”  Clark and Bruce exchanged excited glances and waited for Martha to respond.  She simply sighed and said, “Oh, Jonathan.  This has nothing to do with trusting them… they’re just little boys.  They need someone to watch them.”

“Mom, we are _not_ little boys,” Clark protested.  And Jonathan laughed and shook his head.  “They’re almost high school sophomores, Martha.  They aren’t little boys.  And they won’t be alone… they’ll have each other.”

And finally, to everyone’s surprise, Martha agreed to letting the boys stay home, provided that Mrs. Ross would agree to check in on them from time to time.  Bruce wrinkled his nose at that – he was no great fan of Pete’s mother after she had told the press he was in town – but he said nothing, out of respect for Martha.

The very next morning, Clark and Bruce watched from the dirt road that was the Kent driveway as Jonathan and Martha drove away.  “C’mon,” Clark said, turning to Bruce.  “We better head to the park.”  They didn’t ride with Pete to the ballgames anymore.  Bruce didn’t like to be around him, and Clark understood.

They walked along silently, kicking rocks and trying to stay in any patches of shade they passed.  “What do you think we should do for dinner?” Clark asked.  Bruce thought for a moment.  “Maybe we could order a pizza…”

Clark shook his head.  “Naw.  Sounds good, but we’d have to walk into town to get it.  They don’t deliver out where we live.”  Bruce nodded.  “We could cook, I guess.  Your mom has a ton of stuff in the fridge.”

“We could grill hamburgers,” Clark said brightly.  “That’s a plan, then,” Bruce said with a crooked smile.  Clark nudged him with his elbow and flashed him a grin.

Once they arrived at the baseball diamond, Bruce, Lana, and a couple of the other girls all sat in the stands.  When they started to pick teams, everyone was surprised when Chrissy, who was one of the best baseball players of them all, went to sit down with the others.  Clark watched from the field as she proceeded to sit too close to Bruce, her legs crossed and knees pointed at him.

That day Clark played one of his worst games ever.  He was normally the best pitcher and scored more runs than anyone, but he was so distracted by his need to keep an eye on Bruce (and Chrissy) that he played as if this was his first time on a diamond.  When he went up to pitch, the other team scored seven runs without him striking out a single batter.  And he struck out every time he went to bat.

He just… he knew he couldn’t trust Chrissy with Bruce.  He didn’t know why, but he knew he couldn’t.  He had known this girl since second grade and he had considered her a friend, but every time she got close to Bruce, it made him uncomfortable and he wanted to separate them.  But that was wrong, and he knew it.  Why should he care if Bruce and Chrissy liked each other?  They were both his friends… he should be happy for them.  Bruce should have a nice girl to spend time with, and he should take her to the SYPAS dance.  But Clark realized with a pang that he didn’t want that.  He didn’t want to see Bruce with anyone else.

No.  He was going to… do… something.  He wasn’t sure what, but he was going to somehow stop feeling however he was feeling.

After the game was over (and he received jeers from a couple of teammates and “better luck next time” from a couple others), he walked over to the stands where Bruce and the girls were waiting.

“Are you all right?” Bruce asked.  Clark shrugged.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’m fine.”  Then, ignored the eyebrow Bruce was raising at him and turning to Lana, he said, “Hey, do you maybe wanna come over?  My folks are out.” 

Lana grinned.  “Sure, Clark!  That sounds great!”  Then she glanced at Chrissy, who was giving her an urgent look.  “Why doesn’t Chrissy come over, too?  She and I were planning on hanging out this afternoon.”

Clark hesitated and looked to Bruce.  He hoped that Bruce would give him one of those looks that said he had no interest in her and didn’t want her to come around, but he didn’t.  He looked as if he didn’t care one way or the other, so Clark had no choice.  “Sure.  Please join us, Chrissy.  We’ll all have fun.”

When they walked back to the farm, the girls stood on the outside and Clark and Bruce walked in the center.  Lana slipped her hand into Clark’s, and not to be outdone, Bruce put his arm around Chrissy.  But the boys’ elbows kept bumping together, so they kept glancing at one another out the corner of their eyes.  The four teens walked along in a tense silence.  If the girls noticed the odd mood between the two boys, they were pretending to ignore it.

Back at the Kent farm, the boys offered their guests cookies and cherry cokes, and they put on music to take up the silence in the background.  Clark and Lana settled at one end of the couch, and Bruce and Chrissy sat at the other.

Lana wasted no time and practically pounced on Clark, seizing his mouth with a kiss and twisting her body up against his.  Chrissy smiled at Bruce and he took the hint.  He was again unwilling to be outdone, so he kissed Chrissy and shifted her into his lap with a rueful glance over his shoulder in Clark's direction, working hard to ignore that jealous feeling that almost seemed to be punching him in the gut.

The boys found that, with some difficulty, they could each make out with the girls that were attached to them and watch one another out the corner of their eye.  As Lana tangled her hands in Clark’s hair, he let out an involuntary sigh.  He felt an odd tingle as he heard what sounded like an answering moan from Bruce.  Clark felt himself squeezing his eyes shut tight and focusing on the sounds on the other end of the couch.  Bruce’s little sighs and heavy breaths were shooting through Clark’s body, pelting him like buckshot, too strong and too rapid for him to get away.  And somewhere along the way, Clark started to imagine that Bruce’s hands were in his hair and that the breath at his neck was because Bruce was as ravenous for him as Lana was.  And he struggled not to imagine that Lana’s familiar lips were the pouty ones that gave Bruce’s face so much character.  His head was foggy from desire, so when Lana put her lips to his ear and whispered that they should go upstairs, he almost said yes.

But he couldn’t do that.  He couldn’t go upstairs with Lana, wishing she was someone else.  It would be wrong.

“Uhm, Lana, I just… I just remembered that my parents said we weren’t supposed to have anyone over while they were gone,” Clark said weakly.  “Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed.  “Well, you know, your folks don’t _have_ to know…”

“You know I can’t lie to them,” Clark said flatly, shifting Lana’s weight away from him.

“Well, all right,” she sighed.  “I understand.  We should go, Chrissy.”  Chrissy sighed in annoyance and nodded wordlessly.  Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from Bruce and the girls left.

“You could have had her,” Bruce commented drily, his fist balled.  And Clark ignored him, because there was nothing he could say.  He couldn’t explain to Bruce why he had acted the way he did… he couldn’t even really explain it to himself.  That would mean facing something he had been trying not to face for a while. 

Later that evening, they sat out in the yard with the grill roaring, hamburgers sending delightful aromas into the air.  They sat quietly under citronella candles, sipping iced tea and enjoying the breeze that had swept over the prairie that evening.

The way that Clark felt though was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.  He knew what butterflies in the tummy felt like… that was one thing.  But this nervous, awkward, confusing thing he felt now was more like he had swallowed a hamster that was running very fast and relentlessly on his little wheel.  He had to say something… something had to give.

He took a deep breath and tried to work up the confidence and courage to speak his mind.  He was determined to do it… and usually his determination could help him do things he never knew were possible.

“Bruce, can I… can I ask you a question?” Clark began.  Bruce nodded and motioned for him to continued, so Clark took another deep breath.  “This might be a sort of weird question, so it’s okay if you don’t want to answer.  If you’re embarrassed or anything…”

“Clark,” Bruce interrupted softly.  “Please.”

“Well,” Clark sighed, “I was wondering if you had ever… have you ever, y’know, wondered about… another… guy?”

Bruce hesitated.  “No,” he lied.  He had wondered a great many things since he had met Clark.  “Oh,” Clark said softly, trying not to feel completely discouraged.

Bruce turned and eyed his friend and he felt torn.  Clark looked… confused, and maybe a little sad.  Bruce wanted to say that not only had he been wondering about guys in general but one in particular.  But he didn’t quite know how.  “I guess that maybe I have wondered… once or twice…” he ventured.

Clark got up and flipped the hamburgers on the grill.  His back was facing away from Bruce… he didn’t him want to see his face when he asked the next question.  “Have you… have you ever thought about… doing anything with… a guy?”

Bruce looked at the ground.  “No.” 

“Oh,” Clark said with a nod.  “Yeah.  Me neither.”

As Clark finished watching the burgers on the grill, Bruce went into the kitchen and made a salad and toasted the burger buns.  They ate late, outside under the stars, and just listened to the sounds of the outdoors.  Clark felt embarrassed and awkward about the conversation he had started earlier.  He didn’t know what he had expected… he thought that maybe he’d feel better, or at least less confused, once he got his feelings out.  But he hadn’t gotten them out.  Not really.  The conversation had been vague and answered no questions… and he felt even more confused than he had before.

After dinner, they settled onto opposite ends of the couch and tried to watch a movie, but it was boring.  Neither of them could concentrate anyways.  Clark was distracted, feelings twisting his stomach, and Bruce was confused about a great many things that he hadn't quite sorted out, and he was concerned by how badly he wanted Lana Lang to just... go away, perhaps forever.  With nothing else to occupy their time, they went into the kitchen and did the dinner dishes – Clark washed, and Bruce dried.  Every now and again Clark would start to hum absentmindedly, and Bruce tried to work up an annoyed feeling at the sound, but he couldn’t.  The sound was kind of… nice.  And it made _him_ feel nice on the inside.  That was strange.

After the dishes were all put up, Clark grabbed two popcicles from the freezer – a red one for himself and a blue one for Bruce.  They ate them quietly in the kitchen, with the sounds of cricket chirping rushing in the open window over the sink and the kitty cat clock in the front room counting away the seconds.

After they finished the popcicles and threw away the sticks, Bruce finally said, “I’m really tired.  I think I’ll go up to bed.” 

Clark nodded.  “Yeah, sure.”  As Bruce turned to walk away, Clark bit his tongue and said, “Bruce, wait.”  He heaved a sigh and said, “Can I… can we talk about something?” 

“Okay,” Bruce began tentatively.  Clark nodded.  “If you hate me after this, I’ll understand, but there’s something I’ve been thinking about for some time, and I realized today that I should tell you, for sure.”

Bruce gulped nervously.  “Go ahead.”

Clark nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling dramatically.  “Well, the truth is that I… well, earlier when I asked if you ever thought about guys, I asked you that because, well, I have been.  I’ve been thinking about... you.”  He paused before continuing with his head down, blushing furiously.  “Because, well, the truth is that I think I like you.  I do, Bruce.  I like you.  A lot.  And I’m sorry to just blurt it out, but I had to.  Because it’s just making me feel so wrong to keep it inside.”

Bruce just stood there, calm and still, watching and listening.  His lack of a reaction made Clark nervous.  Even a negative reaction would be better than that wall of passivity.

“I understand if you hate me,” Clark continued, “And I totally get that you don’t feel the same way and you can’t say any of this back.”

“Clark.”

“No, don’t interrupt me,” he sighed.  “If you don’t want to be my friend anymore…”

“Clark.”

He sighed.  “Let me get this off my chest.  I get it.  I get that you can’t…”

“Clark, shut up.”

“But Bruce I –“

“Shut up, okay?” Bruce said.  But before Clark could start babbling again, Bruce closed the space between them and grabbed his wrists.  Clark’s eyes widened in surprise as Bruce pulled him close for a kiss.  Bruce’s lips were softer than Clark had imagined, and his breath tasted vaguely of iced tea.

At first, Clark’s body was tense from the shock, but he soon relaxed into the kiss and his hands shook out of Bruce’s grasp so he could link their fingers.

When they finally parted, Bruce shut his eyes and Clark struggled to catch his breath.  “What was that for?” he asked.

Bruce shrugged.  “I guess I just think you’re… cute.”

Clark grinned and kissed him again.  “I guess you’re cute, too.”  Bruce smiled into the kiss and Clark sighed happily.  “Aww,” Clark began once they pulled apart again.  “I was hoping your lips would be purple…”

“What?” Bruce asked, smiling and biting his lip.

“Well, my lips were red from the popcicle and yours were blue, so I just thought…” Clark cut off his thought with a shake of his head and a very cute smile that showed off these little dimples Bruce had only ever seen once before.

Bruce smirked and pulled Clark the tiniest bit closer. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yet you like me anyways,” Clark said with a becoming flush to his cheeks.  Bruce gave a little laugh.  “Yeah, and what does that say about me?”

They held hands and kissed by the kitchen sink until the phone rang and they were forced to part.  “I should get that,” Clark breathed.  “If you insist,” Bruce said with a smile.

It was Clark’s parents, checking in on the boys and calling to say goodnight.  Martha asked that they both get on the receiver so she could talk to them at once.  And neither of them had ever had such a difficult time concentrating on a phone call in their lives.


	7. And When They Set Me Free, Just Put Your Hands On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys continue to take advantage of their time alone together and later decide to go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual song lyrics for a chapter title? Don't mind if I do... =)

Clark was pretty sure that it had to be a sin of some sort to skip church to make out with your friend, but he wasn’t a bit sorry. It was amazing… he and Bruce had spent the previous night glued to one another, kissing on Clark’s bed, rolling over and falling to the floor, not parting their lips for a moment. It had been late in the night when they had finally fallen asleep, Clark reaching down to Bruce’s trundle to hold his hand. When they woke up in the morning, it was as if the few hours of sleep hadn’t interrupted a thing. They didn’t even come out of their room until noon.

How long would they have to just do this, just be like this? Clark’s parents would be home in the morning, and the boys determined to take advantage of this little bit of privacy. Would they have twelve hours or twelve minutes? Either way, it wouldn’t be enough.

Bruce had kissed plenty of girls and Clark had kissed one girl plenty of times, but neither of them had ever felt anything like this. Their bodies moved like magnets, their hands fit together perfectly, and their tongues and lips passed sweet, hot breath between their mouths as the world faded away. Nothing else seemed to matter. All either of them could concentrate on was how much they wanted each other and enjoyed being tangled together, getting to know one another more intimately than they had imagined. There was a spot at the base of Bruce’s neck, just above his collarbone, that burned with every little kiss that Clark brushed across it. And Clark had never heard any sexier or more beautiful sound than Bruce breathlessly sighing his name.

The afternoon slipped away in a haze of gentle little kisses, long and lingering kisses, hand holding, gentle caresses, and curious hands exploring places they had never dared to go. They memorized every detail of each others' bodies that they could while remaining fully clothed. They tested themselves and each other, neither entirely sure how far they'd be able to take things, but they respected and trusted each other too much to have to worry. Sometimes it felt like they were going fast, but they tried to reign themselves in, enjoy every moment of this newfound closeness. It was like a gift, this thing they suddenly had between them.

It reached a point where they were actually almost surprised to notice that the hands on the kitty cat clock on the wall were still moving. It had felt like they had slipped into some loophole... it began to seem like time couldn't pass when it was being spent so well. But it did, of course.

They were reminded of this the hard way when the doorbell rang. The boys struggled to pull themselves together when Mrs. Ross came to check on them. Clark tried to keep his blush in check, but he knew he was failing. He had all but forgotten that Mrs. Ross had promised his mother she'd stop by. They tried to look innocent and bored, but they probably failed. Bruce held his head down to hide the hickeys on his neck, and Clark couldn’t look her in the eye for fear she would just know what they had been up to.

“I didn’t see you boys in church this morning,” Mrs. Ross commented flatly, somehow managing to sneak in the slightest air of accusation. Clark nodded and said, “Well, um, Bruce was... sick… stomach flu, I think.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” she said, turning to face Bruce, who looked perfectly fine. “Do you need me to get you something to settle your stomach? A little Pepto, or maybe a 7-Up? I could make soup…”

“No, he’s fine,” Clark insisted. “I took care of him.”

Bruce gave him a wry smile. “Yeah. He really did.” His eyes were bright and mirthful at the beet red blush this caused on Clark's whole face.

When Mrs. Ross left, Clark turned back to Bruce and let out the laugh he had been holding in. "You cannot say stuff like that when I'm trying to lie convincingly! You know I'm not very good at it."

“That’s a good trait, Clark,” Bruce said, taking Clark’s hand and leading him back to the couch. Laughingly, Bruce fell onto the couch and Clark climbed on top of him. Bruce wrapped both arms and legs around him and they laughed and kissed and wished that they’d never have to part.

Why hadn’t they been doing this all along? This was… perfect.

“Bruce?” Clark asked between kisses. “How long are we – going to keep – doing this?” Bruce reluctantly pulled his face away. “You tired of it already?”

“Not even a little,” Clark said with a grin. “I just… y’know, we’re alone now, and this may be the only time this happens… so if there was… other stuff you wanted to try…”

Bruce grinned. “Clark Kent, are you propositioning me?” Clark blushed and covered his face with his hands, but Bruce just pushed them away and kissed him again. He ran his bare foot up Clark's leg and slid his hands down the taller boy's back. He brought his mouth close to Clark's ear and whispered, "What do you want to do, Clark?" With a slight little shiver, Clark's hands traveled down Bruce's abdomen and came to rest right above the button on the faded jeans – the ones Clark had ripped at the knee by falling out of a tree in eighth grade. Bruce closed his eyes tight and his breath caught, mouth falling open slightly. Clark pressed the softest of little kisses to his jaw, and just then...

The phone rang.

Clark sighed and choked out a laugh. "That'll be my parents," he said. And he was right. After he hung up, he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “They said they’ll actually be home tomorrow afternoon, and not tomorrow morning like they first thought. I told them to stay as long as they needed, but Mom won’t push it much farther than that.” Clark took a deep breath and rejoined Bruce on the couch. He gave Bruce this little smile and it gave the smaller boy an odd, fluttery feeling in his stomach.

"Listen, Clark," Bruce began, "I want to do... more than this with you. But we don't have to do... _every_ thing right now..." Clark shrugged and nodded. "I know. I just... I mean obviously we don't have to do anything that makes you... uncomfortable, or whatever..."

Bruce rolled his eyes and laughed. "Oh, God, Clark. I'm not saying that for the sake of _my_ virtue. I'm not uncomfortable. I just don't want you to get yourself all wound up for no reason. I mean... we have time." And he got a tad closer to whisper, "And we may not have the whole house very often, but we have that bedroom every night..." Clark's eyes widened and he blushed slightly, but he grinned and pulled Bruce back in for another kiss. And then his cell phone rang.

"If that's your parents again, they must have the house bugged," Bruce groused. Clark laughed but stopped when he saw the caller ID. "It's... Lana..."

Bruce nodded. "Well, you should take it." Clark looked at the phone and at Bruce's face. No, he shouldn't take the call. Something told him that he'd regret it for some time to come if he did. He silenced the phone and set it aside. "I'm sure it's nothing important." He knew he should feel bad about avoiding Lana's call. He liked someone else, and he should level with her. But... at the moment, all he could think about was the way that Bruce was looking at him. He felt like he should be nervous and shy, since this was all so new, but it felt comfortable. And very, very good.

Bruce licked his lips and Clark fought back a grin as he pounced on him. Bruce’s hand traveled up Clark’s thigh and they settled back onto the couch. Clark pulled Bruce on top of him and held him close, and God, did it feel perfect.

It was enough to make Clark wonder if you could be addicted to kissing someone, and how fast such an addiction could set in.

The rest of the day and much of the night was spent between kissing, touching, trying to shock one another with suggestive comments, and silently wishing that the night could go on forever.

They fell asleep that night, side by side in Clark’s bed, fingers locked, with the sound of music on shuffle playing low. And it was perfect. Third base perfect, in fact.

  
After that first day, summer became an endless string of stolen moments. Between trying to find private places to do everything (or _almost_ everything) two horny teenage boys could think of doing, they hardly had time to think about anything else. A few perfect weeks passed and Clark still hadn’t had that conversation with Lana, and he felt like a jerk for it. But after the day that Lana and Chrissy came over, Lana seemed to have sensed that something had changed. She didn’t push Clark anymore. Maybe she was hurt that he had seemed uninterested in her when she and Chrissy came over that day... or maybe she just knew him well enough to understand… Clark could only hope. But still… every time he saw her, there was something in the back of his mind that told him he was just being a coward. The thought of seeing Lana hurt, and knowing he was responsible for it, wasn’t something he looked forward to. But as soon as he looked at Bruce, he was ashamed to say that he stopped caring about anything else, Lana included. Sneaking around with Bruce was exciting, but he had to admit that he felt a little guilty. His parents didn’t know, none of his other friends knew… but he wasn’t ashamed. He wouldn’t mind having people know about him and Bruce, but he didn’t know how to do it. Did he tell his parents that he liked guys, and Bruce specifically? Did he say that he was seeing someone new and when his parents asked to meet the person tell them that they already knew him? Perhaps he could just simply wait until he and Bruce were on their way out the door some night and say they were going on a date. It could be that simple, couldn’t it? Well, maybe that was wishful thinking.

“What do you think your parents would say if they knew what we were up to?” Bruce asked one evening, as he and Clark came up for air. Clark laughed. “I think they’d probably just say that we should keep the door open when we’re alone in the bedroom…” And he meant it. He knew his parents wouldn’t disapprove, but they probably wouldn’t let him and Bruce stay in the same room together anymore. And that would be a real shame…

But he began to think that there was something to this whole idea of going on a date. When they had been fooling around for about three weeks, Clark brought up the subject. “Isn’t that a bit… ridiculous?” Bruce had asked. “I mean, don’t people date so that they have an excuse to fool around? We’ve already cut out the bullshit and moved on to the fun stuff.” And when Clark responded to that by sleeping (by himself) in the hay loft that night, Bruce began to reconsider his position.

He did a bit of research, in fact. He knew that the typical date for a teenage couple included dinner and a movie. Well, they had dinner together every night anyways, so he figured they could just go to a movie. The movie theater in town was small and only showed one movie, which he and Clark had already seen. But, and this was where the research came in handy, he discovered that one of the few remaining drive-in movie theaters was less than two hours away. That would be special. That should make Clark happy, not that Bruce was particularly concerned with his happiness… it would just be easier for him if the taller boy _was_ happy. At least that was what he told himself.

So when they were doing their chores the next morning, Bruce stood behind Clark and cleared his throat. “I was… thinking that I may have been a bit hasty about the whole dating thing,” he began. “And I would actually very much like it if we went on a date.”

“Because it would be a good excuse to fool around after?” Clark asked playfully. “No,” Bruce said with a smirk. “Because it would be a lot of fun, I’m guessing. But we definitely should fool around after anyways.”

“Well, that goes without saying,” Clark laughed. “So, what did you have in mind?”

Bruce smiled. “Did you know that there’s a drive-in movie theater like two hours from here?”

“Of course I know,” Clark said with a grin. “We go there like twice a year. My folks were planning on taking us in a couple of weeks.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m sure that will be a perfect blast, but there are certain things that we can’t, or shouldn’t, do at a drive-in movie with your parents that we would be able to do if it was just the two of us…”

Clark grabbed Bruce’s wrist. “So when you said ‘go to a movie and fool around after’ you meant ‘fool around at a movie and fool around after.’ Is that right?” Bruce grinned cheekily and hooked a finger through Clark’s belt loop.

“How are we supposed to get to this drive-in movie?” Clark asked, pulling Bruce slightly closer. “My parents wouldn’t let us take the truck… neither of us has a license anyways…” He pulled Bruce into him and kissed his temple.

Bruce put his hand lightly on Clark’s chest and smiled softly. “I thought all you country people started driving tractors when you were ten.”

“Well, if you want to see a movie from inside a tractor…” Clark began, before Bruce cut him off with a kiss. “Do you think Pete would let us borrow that thing he calls a car?” Bruce asked, once their lips parted. “He did say he wanted to do something to make up for what his mother did to me…”

“I can’t drive,” Clark said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bruce replied. “I can drive. I know how.” Clark raised an eyebrow. “ _You_ know how to drive? I thought you city people took cabs and subways…”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know how to drive. Alfred taught me. Or, well, he gave me a lesson. But it’s not so complicated.”

“I dunno…” Clark began tentatively before Bruce took his hands. “You ask Pete about his car and leave the rest to me,” he said, giving Clark a quick kiss.


	8. Our Love's The Perfect Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys bicker like a married couple, take their relationship to the next level, and Bruce calls Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More song lyrics for the chapter title =)

A couple of days later, Clark and Bruce were in Pete's old jalopy, traveling down a back country road at a speed much slower than was actually necessary. Bruce was driving, staring straight forward with a bit of sweat at his brow, refusing to acknowledge that he was not as experienced at driving as he had told himself. The one driving lesson he had had was in a Bentley, which bore no resemblance in any way to the vehicle they were in now.

"You know," Clark began softly (because Bruce had already shushed him once, saying he needed near-silence to concentrate), "The drive-in is two hours from home if you drive near the speed limit. At this rate, by the time we get to the movie the good guys will have already won."

"Clark, do you want me to endanger our lives so we can see a movie?" Bruce growled in annoyance. Clark rolled his eyes and looked out to the street that was slowing passing. "You did say you could drive."

"I can," Bruce insisted. "I can drive cars, but... whatever the hell this thing is, it's not a car."

"I won't remind you that this whole thing was your idea because that would just be rubbing it in," Clark said, eyebrow raised. "I'm just going to sit here in silence and not even point out that we'll both be thirty-seven years old by the time we get home, if you keep up at this pace."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Thank you for keeping that to yourself." Clark smiled over at the tense boy next to him and sighed. They traveled along for some time in silence until Bruce finally asked, “How important is this movie to you?”

Clark looked at Bruce with a lopsided smile that gave Bruce an odd tickle in his stomach and chest (which he hated). “I don’t care about the movie at all. I… I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Bruce sighed. “Well, you may be in luck in that case… I think we’re about to run out of gas.” Clark laughed, thinking Bruce was kidding with him. “Oh, come off it. That’s the oldest line in the book.”

“I’m not messing with you, Clark,” Bruce insisted. “I had no idea how few miles per gallon this thing got… we’re not going to make it much farther.” Despite the fact that they had only been traveling for a little over an hour, the gas tank began to sputter.

Clark groaned. “Are you kidding me? Didn’t you think to bring a gas can?”

“I didn’t realize that this contraption was only good for a trip to the corner store,” Bruce grumbled. “You could have reminded me.”

“Remind _me_ again who it was that said, ‘ask Pete for his car and I’ll take care of _every_ thing else.’ Who was that, Bruce?” Clark asked, brows furrowed.

Bruce ignored that question as he pulled the car to the side of the road and let it coast to a stop. They sat silently for a few minutes until Bruce finally said, “I’m… sorry that this all… fell apart. I just wanted our… date to be special. For you.” Clark put his hand on Bruce’s and gave him an encouraging smile. “You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said all I wanted was to spend time with you. And it would be special no matter what… because it’s you.”

Bruce ducked his head to hide the blush that was creeping onto his face and Clark put his hand gently under Bruce’s chin to tilt it back up. Sky blue eyes stared into steely blue ones for a moment before their faces came together for a kiss. Bruce shifted in his seat so he could scoot closer to Clark and put his hand on the taller boy’s thigh. Clark threaded his fingers through Bruce’s hair, which had grown out a bit since that haircut that now seemed so long ago, and his tongue ran along Bruce’s lower lip, requesting entrance and being granted it.

Clark sighed into the kiss and earned a little whimper from Bruce when he pulled his face away. “Bruce?” he began breathlessly. “You remember how we said we’d both know when we were ready to… y’know… take the next step?”

“Mhm,” Bruce sighed, idly running a finger up Clark’s ribs and delighting in the way he shivered slightly. “D-do you feel… re-ready?” Clark stammered, because Bruce had begun to kiss his neck and he could never concentrate when he did that.

Bruce looked up at him and nodded very earnestly. “Yeah. I am ready. But… I mean, can we? We don’t have any lubricant…”

“Oh,” Clark said with a blush. “Well, about that…” And he raised up in his seat slightly so he could reach into his jeans pocket and produced a little bottle. Bruce took the lube from his hand and smiled. “Oh my… where did you… you weren’t too embarrassed to buy this?” he managed to ask, looking at Clark with admiration.

“I _was_ too embarrassed,” Clark said with a slight laugh. “I ordered it online, actually. I just… I wanted to be prepared. I hope that’s okay…” Bruce kissed him in response. “It’s… better than okay, actually.”

They got out of the car and found a scratchy old horse blanket in the trunk and spread it on the ground in the early evening shadow. The road was old and rarely used, so they didn’t have to worry about prying eyes as they laid down beside the car and finally got to know one another better, and more intimately, than they had ever known anyone else.

  
“Was that… was it good?” Clark asked tentatively as he held Bruce close afterwards, once their breathing and heart rates had slowed to normal and they had regained control of their bodies. “It didn’t… hurt too much, did it?”

Bruce smiled lazily and ran his finger up Clark’s arm. “It was good. Really good. I mean, yeah, it hurt at first, but I got used to it pretty quickly… and then it just hurt in a good way. Couldn’t you tell how much I… enjoyed it?”

Clark smiled contentedly. “I could, yeah… but I wasn’t sure if you meant it. You could have been trying to spare my feelings, for all I knew.” And Bruce laughed, pushing himself the tiniest bit closer to Clark. “I think you know me a little bit better than that.”

“Fair enough,” Clark replied with a grin. “But… since you liked it and I liked it… does that mean we can do it again?”

“What, like now? Or in general?” Bruce asked, glancing up at the boy who was holding him. Clark laughed. “In general, smartass.”

“Definitely,” Bruce replied with a cheeky grin.

“Can we… do you think we could try it the other way around next time?” Clark asked tentatively. “I want to… feel what you felt.”

Bruce smiled and took Clark’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. “Whatever you want. We can try anything… everything.” Clark grinned and laced his fingers through Bruce’s before giving him a kiss that left each of them feeling slightly breathless again.

“Could… could next time be now?” Clark asked playfully as Bruce crawled onto him.

  
It was quite dark some time later as they clasped their hands together, lying on their backs and staring up at the sky. “We’re going to have to go home eventually,” Clark finally said, breaking the companionable silence that had followed the heavy breathing and sounds of passion that had punctuated the night air just minutes earlier.

“Yeah,” Bruce began flatly. “I guess we’ll have to call your parents…”

Clark winced. “That could be a problem. I told them we were going to see a movie but I didn’t mention that it was at the drive-in… or that you were driving us in Pete’s car…” Bruce sat up and looked at Clark with one eyebrow cocked. “Clark Kent, I’m surprised at you. I thought you didn’t lie to your parents.”

“Well, it wasn’t a regular lie…” Clark began, cheeks burning slightly. “It was a lie of omission. I know it was wrong… and we’re going to get in trouble now, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

Bruce smiled. “You don’t have to be sorry after this evening. Whatever your parents do to us will be worth it.”

It took both boys some time to explain to Clark’s parents where they were and the lies they had told to be there. They put their clothes back on and sat in the car again. Clark leaned over a bit and rested his head on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce grunted once to show his dissatisfaction, but Clark didn’t believe it, and he didn’t really mean it. After a moment, Bruce put his arm around Clark’s shoulder with a small contented sigh.

“Bruce, I think I should tell you… that wasn’t just my first time with you or first with a boy… that was my first ever,” Clark said softly. “And I’m… well, I’m just really glad it was with you.” Bruce gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “It was my first time, too. And I’m also really glad it was with you.” Clark stretched up slightly and pressed a soft, slow kiss to Bruce’s lips and they both sighed, relaxing together and both feeling secretly quite thankful that Pete’s car couldn’t go very far on a tank of gas.

About forty-five minutes after the boys had called the Kents, a tow truck pulled up and the Kents’ pickup roared up behind it. Jonathan got out of the tow truck along with its driver and went over to the boys. “You two get in the truck,” he said, giving them a look that almost reached pity. Clark knew that his mother was waiting for them, but he wasn’t sure if she’d be disappointed or angry… or maybe both. He took a gulp and steeled himself as they climbed in the backseat. Martha was sitting in the driver’s seat, griping the wheel tightly and staring straight forward.

“Mom, we’re both so sorry,” Clark began at the same time as Bruce said, “Martha, we can explain.” She raised a hand to hush them both and simply said, “We’ll discuss this on the drive home.”

When Pete’s car was safely on the bed of the tow truck and it took off, Jonathan joined the others in the family truck and regarded both boys with a sigh. “I suppose you two have a good explanation for all of this.” They started down the dark, country road and the boys looked at each other, silently trying to decide on their official story.

“We’re waiting for an answer, you two,” Martha said.

“Well,” Clark began. “We wanted to go to the drive-in movie but we didn’t want to ask the two of you to take us because we just thought it would be more fun if it was just us. I’m really sorry.”

“But the whole thing was all my fault,” Bruce insisted. “It was all my idea and I orchestrated the whole thing. I accept full responsibility. Don’t be mad at Clark.”

“No, Bruce didn’t have to force me into anything,” Clark countered. “It’s just as much my fault… more, even. He didn’t even know I lied to you. Don’t blame him.”

Jonathan and Martha exchanged a glance and Martha sighed and seemed to let go of some of the tension in her body. “Well, it’s touching that the two of you are sticking up for one another, but the fact of the matter is that you both knew better, and you’ll both have to be punished.”

“No cell phones, laptops, iPods, or TV and video game privileges for a week and no baseball this Saturday,” Jonathan said. “And you’ll both be doing a lot of extra chores to help pay for the tow truck.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said in unison.

“And Bruce, you’re going to call Mr. Pennyworth in the morning and tell him all about this business,” Martha added. “He should know about this.” Bruce nodded and put his head down. “Yes, ma’am.” Clark gently patted Bruce’s hand and gave him a reassuring smile.

The rest of the ride back to Smallville was mostly silent. The tow truck left Pete’s car at his house, and Bruce and Clark went to the door to apologize to him. Pete gracefully accepted their apologies because no harm had been done. When they got back to the Kent farm, the boys both turned over all their electronics and trudged up to bed.

“Do you still think it was worth it?” Clark asked, eyebrow cocked. Bruce thought for a moment and then smiled. “Yep. Still worth it.” They stripped down to their underwear and slept cuddled together on Clark’s bed, with Clark as the big spoon and Bruce as the little one.

In the morning, Clark stood beside Bruce for moral support as he called his family home. “Wayne Residence,” Alfred answered. “Alfred? It’s me. Bruce,” he said.

“Oh, hello, Master Bruce,” Alfred said warmly. “How good to hear from you. How is Kansas?” Bruce nodded as if Alfred could see him. “It’s fine. I like it much more than I had expected. But… but I’m afraid this isn’t just a social call.”

Alfred let out a soft laugh. “I imagine I should have expected that. All right, sir, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Well,” Bruce began, “More of the usual, I’m afraid. I’m in trouble again. Clark and I lied to his parents, took his friend Pete’s car and drove off in the direction of a drive-in movie even though neither of us has a license, or even a learner’s permit. But we ran out of gas before we made it, so his parents had to come get us and bring a tow truck for Pete’s car.”

“I wasn’t aware there were any drive-in movie theaters left,” Alfred said simply.

Bruce sighed heavily. “Is that all you’re going to say? Nothing about how I should be ashamed for inconveniencing the Kents and lying to them and this being no way to repay their hospitality? Nothing about how it’s terrible of me to take Clark, an otherwise good kid, down this path with me?”

“Why would I bother saying any of that when it seems you’ve said it all to yourself?” Alfred asked. “Master Bruce, I’m sure you and your friend meant no harm to anyone, even yourselves. This seems like a youthful indiscretion at best, and you needn’t berate yourself so. No permanent damage was done, correct?”

Bruce hesitated. “Well, I guess. I just… feel like… I let you down. I didn’t want you to have to be bothered with my bullshit this summer and here I am…”

“With all due respect, sir, I am quite used to, and fond of, you _and_ your bovine excrement,” Alfred interrupted. “So that’s quite enough. I’m sure whatever punishment you’ve been given by the Kents is sufficient, so we needn’t speak of this anymore.”

Bruce smiled to himself. “Thanks.”

When he hung up the phone, Clark smiled at him and nudged his shoulder. “Alfred sounds great. I wish I could meet him.”

Bruce nodded. “He’s one of a kind. I hope you do get to meet him. Someday.” And Clark smiled as the word hung in the air, like a promise.


	9. The Party's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark can BOTH be idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: You know that "angst" tag that's been sitting up there since the beginning? Well, it's been there in anticipation of this chapter.

It was a week before the SYPAS dance, which meant it was two weeks before Bruce was supposed to go home. Since Clark and Bruce had started their relationship, and especially since they had started sleeping together, they hadn’t really discussed what would happen between them when the summer ended. Clark got a stomach cramp every time he noticed how close it was getting to the day when he and his parents would have to watch Bruce get on a bus and head back to his real life, where farm chores and baseball games and… Clark… were all nothing but memories. Clark had wondered once or twice if his parents would let Bruce stay indefinitely. They could keep on like they had been, and could go to Smallville High together. But no, he knew that would never happen. Someone like Bruce belonged in a fancy private school and a big fancy house in the big city. Someone like Bruce deserved better than some selfish farm boy that was fantasizing about holding him too close and not letting him grow. But it was hard not to want to somehow make the perfect summer last a little longer and somehow keep Bruce with him for as long as he possibly could.

Clark was thinking all of this as he and Bruce were sitting on the couch in the quiet, empty living room. They were supposed to be reading _Wuthering Heights_ together, but they had both stopped paying much attention to the book. Clark was wrapped in his thoughts and Bruce was sort of gazing at Clark’s face, his expression a mixture of admiration and confusion. “What’s the matter?” Clark asked, once he noticed the odd look on the other boy’s face.

“Nothing,” Bruce began, coloring slightly. “It’s just… you’re very… cute.” Clark smiled and blushed. “Oh, stop.”

“No, really,” Bruce insisted. “You know what it is? It’s that little cleft in your chin. I can’t get over it.” He gently caressed Clark’s face and ran his finger along the chin cleft. “Are you okay?” Clark asked, setting the book down on the sofa beside him and taking Bruce’s free hand.

“I am,” he said. “I just… I don’t know. You make me feel… I don’t even know. It’s not just your chin. It’s also the fact that you get these little dimples right here,” and at this, he touched his pointer fingers to the corners of Clark’s mouth, “but only when you smile really wide… that truly happy smile.” Clark flashed the offending smile, adorable dimples and all, and Bruce smiled back and cradled the taller boy’s face in his hands before kissing him softly.

Clark sighed and leaned his forehead gently against Bruce’s. “What are we… what am I going to do without you?”

“Let’s not think about that now,” Bruce replied softly. Clark shook his head. “I don’t want to,” he began, squeezing his eyes tight, trying to block out the rest of the world. “But the summer is going to end so soon…”

“I know,” Bruce sighed. “I’m not looking forward to it, either. But I… I can’t think about it. Please don’t make me.”

Clark took both of Bruce’s hands and smiled. “Okay. We won’t talk about any of that.” He gave him another kiss, this one longer and a little more passionate. When their lips parted, Clark inhaled deeply and sighed the breath out. “Bruce, you know I…”

Bruce cut him off with a nod. “I know. Me too.”

Clark smiled. “So, do you maybe wanna go upstairs and do whatever it is people do in this situation?”

Bruce returned the smile and nodded, and upstairs they went. And it was intense but tender and just what both of them needed. It felt very much like that big scary word that they weren’t going to use… and it was perfect.

  
The next morning was a Sunday, and Chrissy and her parents were sitting in the church pew right in front of Bruce and the Kents. When services were over, Chrissy’s mother turned to Martha and said, “Hello, Martha, dear!”

“Good afternoon, Dolores,” she replied cheerfully. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m fine, just fine,” she responded with a smile. “But Martha… can we talk? Will you walk with me?” The two mothers walked away and Chrissy gave Bruce a smile that was probably a bit too suggestive for a Sunday morning and flounced away with her father. Clark and Bruce shrugged at one another and followed Jonathan out of the church. By the time they had walked over to the truck, Martha was waving goodbye to Dolores and beaming at the men in her family.

“Well, good news, Bruce,” Martha said happily. “Chrissy’s mom and I just arranged for the two of you to go to the SYPAS dance together! You can double with Clark and Lana. Won’t that be fun?” When Bruce didn’t respond, Martha continued, “I know you probably wish that we mothers hadn’t meddled, but I know Clark was trying to get you to ask Chrissy, but you never did. Kind of figured you were too shy to ask. Chrissy didn’t have a date and her ma said she had been kind of down that no one had asked her. You will take her, won’t you?”

Bruce nodded silently and cleared his throat of the lump that had settled there. “Yes. I will. Thank you for thinking of me, Martha.” He knew that the mothers had only interfered with good intentions, so he couldn’t be upset. He knew Clark was still going with Lana (since they had made the date months ago), so at least they’d all be there together.

  
A few days later, the boys were deciding which suits they would wear to the dance so Jonathan could drive them in to town to leave them at the dry cleaners. Clark decided on the dark blue suit with the steel grey dress shirt and Bruce decided on the black suit with the dark blue dress shirt.

Bruce was thumbing through the dozen or so ties that he had with him and picked an appropriate one for himself and one for Clark, who only owned two ties (neither of which would look right with the suit he was wearing). Clark sighed as Bruce handed him the tie and asked, “Do you, uh, want me to try to get out of this? I could try to get us both out of it…”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Um, well… isn’t it a bit late for that?” Clark shrugged. “Well, yeah. But I think if I leveled with Lana, she’d understand. I just thought that we might want to stay in the night of the dance… or maybe we could go… together?”

Bruce put his head down, nervous. That was… it sounded serious. And serious was kind of scary. “You and Lana have had this date for months,” he finally said. “Don’t break it on my account…”

“I wouldn’t be,” Clark said earnestly. “It would be on _my_ account.” Bruce sighed. “No, Clark. You shouldn’t be breaking dates for me and I shouldn’t be breaking them for you. That’s not… it’s not a part of… this.”

“A _part_ of this?” Clark asked. “What do you mean by that?”

Bruce shrugged. “I… I don’t know. But it’s just… it’s too late to start changing the rules now.” Clark shook his head, slightly confused. “I don’t understand. I wasn’t aware there _were_ rules.” Bruce sighed. “It’s just… I don’t know. Let’s just go with the girls like we planned, okay?”

Clark’s brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, just a bit sadly. “Okay. Whatever.”

  
Bruce withdrew over the next several days. He seemed almost desperate to keep Clark at arm’s length, and Clark only wondered why. What had he done to hurt him or anger him? He would apologize if he knew. He had in fact tried to apologize once, and Bruce had only vehemently denied that there was a problem. It was confusing, frustrating, and hurtful. Clark wanted Bruce to be upfront with him and trust him with his problems or concerns… because he wouldn’t know how to fix things if Bruce wasn’t open with him. But, then again, he wasn’t entirely sure why he expected openness from Bruce Wayne. Bruce had been different since they had gotten together, but not _that_ different…

Clark had wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was about Lana. Clark had said a long time ago that he would tell Lana that things were different now… if he had done that when he said he would, the date for the dance would have been called off.

So on Friday, the day before the dance, Clark had asked Bruce again if he wanted him to call off his date with Lana. Bruce groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. “Clark, how many times do I have to tell you that you and Lana should go to this stupid dance as planned? I don’t care. I really don’t.”

“If you don’t care, why do you sound so angry?” Clark asked, arms crossed.

Bruce rolled his eyes again. “I am not angry. I just don’t care one way or the other _what_ you do and I’m tired of telling you.” Clark furrowed his brows and sighed. “Okay. You don’t care. That’s fine. But you haven’t been yourself lately… obviously something is wrong, and I would have thought you’d trust me enough to tell me.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “It has nothing to do with trust. I just don’t have anything to tell. There is no problem. I’m not angry. It’s not about me, or you, or us, or Lana goddamn Lang. When are you going to get it through your abnormally thick skull that I’m fine?”

“And yes, you sure sound fine and not angry at all,” Clark said sarcastically. “I’m sure Lana goddamn Lang will be happy to know that she and I have your approval, something that is not so readily given.”

“You don’t need my approval,” Bruce growled. “Nor my opinion or permission. You can go out with anyone you like. You don’t need to clear it with me before you go out with some stupid girl, or another guy, or a cow or whatever it is you people do out here. I don’t care, Clark. Because you are _not_ my boyfriend, and I’m sure as hell not yours.”

Clark nodded slowly. “I see,” he said simply. But Bruce continued, unable to stop the angry words that he hadn’t felt erupting within him until too late. “That’s right, you see. This thing that we did… it was fun, but that’s all. It didn’t _mean_ anything, and I’m sorry you didn’t _get_ that. This was _not_ a relationship. I don’t care who you go with. You could take on everyone in your sophomore class right here and now and I. Would. Not. Care. It wouldn’t matter a bit, Kent.”

“Go to hell, Bruce,” Clark said bitterly, turning and walking away. Clark spent the rest of the day by himself pouting in the hayloft and Bruce spent it brooding in their bedroom. When they went up to bed that night, Clark changed into his pajamas and grabbed the pillow from his bed. He turned to leave, but Bruce said, “Clark, wait.” He turned to face him, expecting an apology or some show of amends, but instead Bruce said, “Your parents will wonder why you’re sleeping outside.” Clark rolled his eyes and left.

  
The next morning, as they walked to the park for the weekly baseball game, Clark walked a good ten paces ahead of Bruce. It took a lot of resolve on Bruce’s part not to catch up with Clark and act as if nothing had happened. He thought that might work, if he was willing to try it… but he wasn’t. He was mad at Clark. He couldn’t figure why, but he was. And Clark was fighting a very deep desire to be the bigger person and accept the blame for his fight with Bruce, but he wouldn’t do it. Nope, not this time. Bruce had been almost heartless, and Clark wasn’t going to just forgive him for it as if he had simply left the cap off the toothpaste.

When they arrived at the park, Clark and Hector, the tallest and skinniest boy Bruce had ever seen, were picked to be captains. The handful of girls who liked to watch from the stands, including Lana, began to climb to the usual seats, and Chrissy tried to lead Bruce away by the hand. But he looked at the ground and slipped his hand away.

“I’m playing today,” he announced. There was a murmur of approval from a few of the kids, who remembered that Bruce was actually quite good when he did play. But Pete laughed. “ _You’re_ playing, Wayne? I thought you liked it better up there with the other girlfriends.” Everyone laughed and Bruce’s face burned, but he let the comment pass.

Clark got to pick for his team first, and he took Pete. Hector chose Chrissy, who had suddenly decided to play when _Bruce_ had decided to play. Everyone expected Clark to take Bruce for his next pick, but he took Abby, who was the fastest kid in school. Hector decided to take his chance and pick Bruce then before Clark did. But Clark had no intention of having Bruce Wayne on his team. The game passed uneventfully, with Clark and Bruce playing harder than anyone else on their teams. No one else was really very into the game because the heat was sweltering and they were all excited about the dance that night. They gave up after three innings and called the game a tie.

“Hey, Bruce,” Clark called distractedly. Bruce jogged over to him, and Clark said, “I’m going to Pete’s house to hang out with him. Tell my folks I’ll be home later.” Bruce nodded, but caught Clark’s t-shirt sleeve as he turned away. “Hey, let me ask you a question. What have you told Pete about me?”

Clark gave Bruce an annoyed look and rolled his eyes. “Nothing.” He wrenched his arm out of Bruce’s grip. “But you’re usually with me when I’m with Pete, so I’m not sure why you’re even bothering to ask.”

“If you haven’t said anything about me, why did Pete call me your girlfriend?” Bruce asked, annoyed. Clark sighed. “Oh, he did not.”

“He made some smartass comment about Bruce needing to sit down with the other girlfriends,” he growled. “What was he implying, if not that?”

“Stop being paranoid,” Clark said flatly, in a hushed tone. “I haven’t told anyone about us… not that there’s anything to tell, according to you.” And Clark turned and left, climbing into Pete’s jalopy. Bruce watched them roar away before he walked off in the direction of his home for the next week.

  
Bruce was already showered and dressed several hours later when Clark breezed in and got ready quickly. Jonathan drove the boys to Lana’s house to pick up their dates. They walked silently up to the door and Clark rang the bell. They both had corsages, white orchids that Martha had picked out, for their dates, and they waited silently for the girls to come to the door.

But Lana’s aunt opened the door instead and greeted the boys, complimenting them both on how handsome they looked. The girls soon descended the staircase, both looking quite beautiful. Lana was wearing an emerald green sheath dress that showed off the cleavage that Clark had politely failed to notice. Chrissy was wearing a dark purple party dress with a round skirt and a black tulle petticoat peeping out the bottom. The boys gave them their corsages and they were properly appreciative. When they walked out of the house, Chrissy said in a stage whisper, “Thanks for agreeing to come with me, Bruce. I know you didn’t really want to.” Bruce faked a dazzling smile and said, “Don’t be silly. Of course I wanted to go with you. I was just too _shy_ to ask for myself.” Clark rolled his eyes, and Lana noticed and elbowed him lightly.

Jonathan drove the kids to the community center and dropped them off. They went inside and Bruce heaved a little sigh at how the place looked. It wasn’t unlike a school gym, and the paper streamers and balloons from the dollar store served as decorations. There was a big banner that said, “So long, Summer!” and was decorated with fall leaves and apples. Lots of kids were already dancing or talking and laughing on the side of the room.

Clark whirled Lana out on to the dance floor, and Bruce and Chrissy followed suit. Bruce kept his eye on Clark and Lana and felt himself growing annoyed and jealous, just like the day that Lana and Chrissy came over while Clark’s parents were away. But Clark was focusing on Lana and was ignoring Bruce quite effectively. So he didn’t see the way Bruce was staring at him or the fact that his face was burning. He was too hurt and too angry to care even if he had noticed. Despite the tension between the two boys, the four kids stayed on the dance floor for three fast numbers and two slow ones before the girls decided to take a break, because their high heels were killing them.

Clark walked over to the punch bowl and Bruce followed him. Clark ladled out two cups of punch and handed the ladle to Bruce. Bruce looked at him as he poured the drinks. “All right, Wayne, what now?” Clark asked.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “What the hell was that out there on the dance floor?” Clark sighed dramatically. “Dancing?”

“I know that, smartass,” Bruce growled. “But all that dipping and twirling all over the place like you’re trying to get on the next season of _Dancing with the Stars_ … it was disgusting. And I saw how low your hands were on her back.”

Clark raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you care? You’re _not_ my boyfriend, remember?”

“I _don’t_ care,” Bruce insisted. “It’s just that you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“No, I’m just now ready to _stop_ making a fool of myself,” Clark said angrily. “That’s what I’ve been doing all summer with you, isn’t it? But that’s done now.”

“Don’t you dare go there with me,” Bruce growled, poking Clark in the chest. Clark knocked his hand away and took a deep breath. He let the breath out and turned and walked out of the community center. Bruce rushed after him, and the girls got up and ran after their dates (high heels in hand).

When they were out in the parking lot, Bruce said, “Don’t you walk away from _me_ , Clark Kent.” Clark crossed his arms and gave Bruce a defiant look. “Don’t _you_ tell me what to do, Bruce Wayne.”

“You’re making a scene,” Bruce said flatly. Clark shook his head. “And I don’t care. You… you are… I don’t even know what to say. You’ve been a real jerk and I get it now. I _finally_ get it. You’re just an immature, scared little boy! _You_ don’t want me, because God forbid you let yourself want or need _any_ one, but how dare I try to have a good time if you’re not having one. You’re scared you’ll get hurt, though, so you have to push me away and hurt _me_ first because you _have_ to win. It’s a game to you. I never meant anything… I was just a part of the game.”

Bruce sighed and looked down, but said nothing. So Clark shook his head. “And you don’t even have anything to say for yourself. God, Bruce… I fell… I actually thought that I _loved_ you, but you were just looking for a fun way to spend your summer. Well, I’m done.” Clark exhaled and tried to keep the shakiness in his body out of his voice.

Bruce nodded and stared at the ground for a moment before responding. “You’re right. I’m thoughtless and don’t have feelings and this was all meaningless. And you’re probably a lot better off this way.”

Clark turned and walked away and Lana ran after him, calling, “Clark! Wait!” Bruce turned back to Chrissy and they went back into the dance, pretending that the whole scene that had transpired in the parking lot had never happened. Bruce and Chrissy pretended to have a good time at the dance for several more hours, but Clark and Lana never came back. When the dance came to an end, Bruce finally called Jonathan and let him know that he and Chrissy were ready to go home. “Where are Clark and Lana?” Jonathan asked, concerned, when he arrived,

“They left earlier and said they’d find their own ride home,” Chrissy supplied when Bruce couldn’t think of an answer. They dropped Chrissy off at her house and drove back to the Kent farm in silence. Bruce expected to find Clark there, but he wasn’t. Bruce didn’t know where he could be, and he felt something nagging in his stomach. It was… yep, it was worry. And guilt. Because this was his fault… all his fault. He didn’t know why he had worked so hard to hurt and alienate Clark, but he knew that if anything happened to him, he would be to blame, and he’d never forgive himself.

He went upstairs and took a long, hot bath and changed into his pajamas. He grabbed the first book he saw, which just so happened to be the copy of _Wuthering Heights_ that he and Clark had been reading together, and went to sit on the couch and wait. Not to wait for Clark, of course… just to wait.

Martha was at one end of the couch and Jonathan was dozing in the recliner, so Bruce curled up on the opposite end of the couch with his book open. He stared at the page in front of him but was unable to concentrate. He completely lost track of the time and place, so when Martha quietly said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’ll be home soon,” Bruce was startled.

“He who?” Bruce asked, as soon as he had recovered. “I’m not waiting for anyone. I’m just reading down here because the couch is more comfortable.”

“Right,” Martha said, patting Bruce’s knee. “That’s why you haven’t turned the page in forty-five minutes.” Bruce blushed, but Martha continued. “It’s not that late yet. It won’t be time to worry for another two hours or so.” Bruce nodded and continued to stare at the same page of the book. Soon Jonathan and Martha went up to bed and they told Bruce to have Clark come and tell them he was in for the night when he came home.

Bruce kept the book open in his lap but stared at the door, almost willing it to open and Clark to come in. But it was another long hour or so before Clark arrived.

He was surprised to see Bruce waiting up for him and he made a sad face when he saw him. “Clark,” Bruce began softly. “I… I think I owe you an apology. But before that, your parents want you to come up and let them know you’re home.” Clark nodded and ran up the stairs. He came back down five minutes later, having already shed his suit jacket and tie.

“Bruce,” Clark began. “I… I’m the one who owes _you_ an apology. I did something tonight… something bad and wrong, and I… I wish I hadn’t and I’m sorry.”

Bruce shook his head. “If this is about calling me out back there, I may have deserved that…”

“It’s not, and you _didn’t_ deserve it. Not really,” Clark interrupted. “I… I’m a cheater. And if you never want to speak to me again…” He looked almost hysterical, like he might cry. Bruce couldn’t help the surge of protectiveness he felt for him.

He came close enough to grab Clark’s wrists and made a shushing sound to sooth him. “Hey, one thought at a time. What are you talking about?”

Clark’s eyes began to water as he trembled slightly. He shook his head and tearfully confessed, “I hooked up with Lana tonight.”

“Oh,” was all Bruce could say as his world began to fall apart around him. "You slept with her."

"No, it didn't go that far, but I..." Clark shook his head. "I really screwed up."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me, I promise things are not as bleak as they currently seem...


	10. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer may be over, but the boys hold out hope for what's to come.

Clark had hooked up with Lana. _Clark_ had hooked up with _Lana_.  Bruce kept repeating the phrase on a loop in his head as Clark tried to calm himself down.

“It didn’t mean anything, and I knew it was wrong as soon as I did it,” Clark reasoned, wiping tears from his eyes. “I know that’s a flimsy and stupid excuse and this will sound even flimsier and stupider, but I was just so _mad_ at you that I wasn’t thinking straight. But when I was with her, it told me that I didn’t want to be with anyone but _you_ , Bruce.”

Bruce had slumped back into his seat on the couch and was staring at his hands. Clark had been with Lana. _His_ Clark had been with someone that _wasn’t_ him.

“Bruce, please say something,” Clark pleaded, sinking to his knees in front of the smaller boy. “Get mad, hit me… anything. Just… please.”

Bruce crossed his arms defensively around himself and licked his lips, feeling that they were quite dry. “What all did you two do? And how was it?”

“Is that important?” Clark asked.

Bruce nodded. “I’m just wondering. I have a right to know, I think.” Clark sighed and looked down, unsure of how to word what he had to say. “Third base. But that's all, I swear. It could have gone farther, but I thought better of it... and I felt too guilty. And... it was fine, I guess. It was just… nothing like being with you.”

“So was it worth it?” Bruce asked. “I was sitting here worried about you and you were off... I can't even say it. I just hope it was worth it.”

Clark shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know why I did it… I just… I would never hurt you. Not on purpose.” Bruce sighed. “I’m not hurt. I’m not even mad. I’m… not even surprised. I get it.”

“Get what?” Clark asked sadly. Bruce nodded again. “I _get_ it. I was being my impossible self and I hurt you, so you had to get me back. It was only natural.”

“No, Bruce,” Clark insisted. “I didn’t do this to hurt you. I was hurt by what you said to me and how you’ve acted, but I wasn’t trying to take revenge. I wasn’t even thinking. I just… I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me… that I didn’t matter to you. But Lana…”

“Lana has never been vague about her feelings,” Bruce said.

“Yeah,” Clark answered uncomfortably. Not only had he hurt Bruce, but he had also used Lana. He was not the person he had thought he was just a few hours ago.

“Look, I’m sorry I was difficult and horrible,” Bruce said. “And… every word I’ve said over the past few days has been a big, fat lie. This is my fault, if anything.”

Clark looked down and shook his head. “No. I’m not going to let you sit here and blame yourself when I was the one who did this horrible, unforgivable thing.”

Bruce gently placed his hand on Clark’s shoulder. “I told you we weren’t together, didn’t I? So you couldn’t have been cheating…” Clark glanced up and Bruce looked him in the eye. “I’m not going to say that it’s okay that you were with her, but… I guess it wasn’t exactly unforgivable.”

“Do you think you ever _will_ be able to forgive me?” Clark asked. “I’ll understand if you can’t… lord knows I’m having trouble forgiving myself.”

Bruce thought for a moment. “You should know that when I said that none of this meant anything, I was lying. But not just to you… to myself, more than anything. Feeling like this… it… scared me. So I thought if I just ignored it, it would go away… but it didn’t. So I understand why you did something to pretend your feelings were something that they weren’t. So… I think I can forgive you.”

Clark took his hands. “You know, I meant it when I said that I fell for you. I love you, Bruce.” Bruce nodded. “I know you meant it. And… I… I love you, too.” Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce, and he resisted the hug for a second before burying his face in Clark’s shoulder and squeezing him back, just as tightly as he could.

All the pain went away and all the lies were forgiven. The only thing that mattered was the week they had left, and how they would spend it together. They still couldn’t bring themselves to talk about what would happen when Bruce left. They didn’t have to. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they would just make the most of the time they had left, and that was what they did. They couldn’t keep it in anymore. It was love, no way around it.

And being in love felt wonderful, and it gave them both strength they never knew and even Bruce got a new kind of happiness that was unmatched. But love hurt, too, because they knew that that happiness depended on them being together… and they knew they only had a very limited amount of time together.

But yet they wouldn’t have changed a thing.

  
Finally, unfortunately, the day before they’d have to part came. The Kents decided to take Bruce out for a special afternoon and evening as a farewell, and the boys put on their brave faces and didn’t even mention the fact that they’d have preferred to spend their last night along together. But something good did come from the evening out: they finally made it to that drive-in movie. Jonathan and Martha had seen in the newspaper that there was to be a special screening of _The Gray Ghost Returns_ , the second Gray Ghost movie starring Simon Trent. They knew that the boys would like that very much, judging by the amount of times the two of them had watched every disc in the Gray Ghost box set over the past two months.

They had to admit that if they were going to see any movie on that particular night, they were glad this was the one. Clark’s parents even bought them both souvenir programs to remember the night. Halfway through the movie, they went for popcorn, which was in fact just an excuse to go and sit on the swings together and hold hands, not caring that they couldn’t hear the sound from the movie… after all, they had seen it before. Clark’s parents gave them a look when they got back, during the closing credits, but they said nothing.

After they left the drive-in, the Kents drove the boys back to town and they all went for dinner at the Chinese restaurant in town. The boys used their chopsticks to steal food off of each other’s plates and maintained a good mood. When the meal was over, they pocketed their fortune cookies and took them home to be opened later, in private.

Once they went back to the Kent farm, the boys went up to the hayloft – which had become their special spot – and they sat down together in the hay. “I guess that was just about a perfect day… wouldn’t you say?” Clark asked, looking at Bruce. “Well,” Bruce began, leaning a little bit closer, “ _Almost_ perfect.” And Clark smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “Now it’s perfect,” he whispered against Bruce’s lips as he pulled him closer. They both smiled into the kiss as they laid back in the hay, fingers locking together desperately.

“I’ve never wanted to stop time as badly as I do right now,” Clark said with a sigh. Bruce nodded. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

“Hey, we never did open those fortune cookies, did we?” Clark asked suddenly, sitting up. “Let’s do that,” Bruce responded, picking a piece of hay from Clark’s hair. They pulled the little cookies in their plastic wrappers from their pockets and cracked them open.

“Your future is unfolding,” Bruce read. He wrinkled his nose and laughed once. “How is that even a fortune? It tells me nothing. And it’s like stating the obvious.”

Clark shook his head. “Oh, stop complaining. It’s a fine fortune.” He looked at the little slip of paper in his hand and read, “Great love awaits you.” He frowned and dropped the fortune in the hay and shook his head. “Funny, me getting that as a fortune just as you’re about to leave.”

“Maybe your parents could hire me as a farm hand,” Bruce said jokingly. Clark smiled and ducked his head. “We couldn’t afford you.”

Bruce nodded. “Well, maybe they’d adopt me.”

“Oh, no,” Clark protested. Bruce’s head shot up and he couldn’t hide his smile. “What, you don’t want to share your folks with me?”

“It’s not that,” Clark said with a grin. “It’s just that if they adopted you, we’d be brothers… and I don’t think we could keep doing a lot of the things we like to do together if we _were_ brothers…”

Bruce smiled. “I thought that was the whole reason you wanted me to come here in the first place… because you wanted a brother.” Clark nodded and touched Bruce’s knee with one eyebrow raised. “Sometimes you get more than you bargain for… and sometimes that’s a good thing.”

Bruce leaned in and gave Clark another kiss. When they reluctantly pulled apart a moment later, Bruce asked, “How do you think we should spend our last night together?”

“I bet we could figure something out,” Clark breathed, pulling Bruce back to him for another kiss.

Hours later, Clark woke up. Bruce was still asleep beside him, so he had to sneak away quietly and carefully. It was still dark out, hours before they would need to be awake, so Clark crept into the house quietly, careful not to disturb his parents. He went to his room and took a seat at his desk. There was a letter he needed to write.

But Clark wasn’t quite as sneaky as he thought. A few minutes after he left, Bruce stirred in his sleep because he realized Clark wasn’t beside him anymore. He sat up and glanced out the window over towards the house and saw that there was a light on in Clark’s room. Bruce went into the house and followed Clark up to his room. He watched him from the doorway for a moment before he said anything.

Clark had a smile on his face because he realized Bruce was there, but he didn’t look up. He would let him have his fun.

“Hey,” Bruce finally whispered. “What are you writing?”

“It’s a letter for a boy,” Clark said with a soft smile. “Come in and shut the door so the light doesn’t wake my parents.” Bruce stood over Clark’s shoulder until he flipped over the sheet of paper he was writing on. “No peeking,” he said with a smile. Bruce leaned over him and wrapped his arms around Clark’s shoulders and kissed him once on the temple. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Bruce reached for a sheet of paper and grabbed a pen from the Big Apricot pen cup on the desk.

“I think I’ll write a letter to a boy too,” he said. He sat down on his trundle and began to write as Clark watched him out the corner of his eye.

When the letters were finished and safely sealed inside envelopes, Clark asked, “Do you wanna swap now, or should we wait until later?” Bruce thought for a moment. “Um, let’s do it later. Right before I leave.” Clark nodded. He didn’t want to see Bruce’s face when he read the letter either.

“It’s a little too late to go back to bed, isn’t it?” Bruce asked. “What do you think we should do?”

“I know!” Clark exclaimed. “Let’s go for a swim. No one will be at the swimming hole this time of morning… we can have one last swim in private.” The smile had faded from his face on the word “last” but he tried to keep his voice bright.

Bruce nodded. “Okay,” he said, forcing a smile.

The two boys snuck out of the house with a flashlight and jogged over to the swimming hole. They shed their clothes quickly and jumped into the water wearing nothing more than the glow of the moonlight. The water was downright cold in the early morning weather, but neither of them cared. Clark ducked his whole body under water and pulled Bruce down with him, kissing him in the cool darkness. When they came up a moment later, they both gasped for breath but continued to hold close to one another. Clark reached up and pushed Bruce’s wet bangs, which had grown almost as long as they were when he had come to Smallville, out of his face.

"I love you, you know," Clark whispered.

Bruce nodded and ducked his head. "I know. And you know that I love you, too... don't you?"

Clark laced his fingers through Bruce's and smiled. "Yeah, I do. Even if you didn't say it I would know." Bruce said nothing, because there was nothing to say. He just went in close for a kiss. They stayed in the water for a long time, not talking and holding one another close. They climbed out when the sun began to rise, fingers and toes wrinkled, and laid out in the sun to dry.

“Do you think you could come back next summer?” Clark asked.

Bruce smiled to himself. “Only if you and your parents will be my guests in Gotham for Christmas.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Clark said, rolling onto his stomach. “We should probably get back… you wouldn’t want to miss your last morning chores.”

When the boys made it back to the farm house, Clark’s parents were already awake, drinking coffee in the kitchen. “Where were you boys so early?” Martha asked. Clark smiled and said, “We went for an early morning swim. We didn’t think you guys would mind.” Then, pausing to sniff the air, he asked, “What smells so good, Mom?”

Martha smiled. “We didn’t mind… we just wondered where you were. And that smell is a little surprise I made for you boys. Red velvet pancakes!” The two young men grinned like little boys as they ate dessert masquerading as breakfast and held hands under the table.

After they had eaten, the boys went upstairs and began packing up Bruce’s things – something they had promised to have done two days before. Clark folded the old clothes Bruce had been wearing all summer and said, “You might as well take these things with you. I can’t do anything with them.” Bruce nodded and left two of his ties for Clark. “You should keep these,” he said. “They look better on you anyways.” This was as close as he could come to saying that he’d not be able to wear those particular ties anymore because they would only ever remind him of Clark.

After Bruce’s clothes were shoved into his large suitcase (with a few extras stuffed into his backpack), Clark sat on the bed and motioned for Bruce to sit beside him. Once the smaller boy was next to him, Clark reached under his pillow and pulled out a book. Handing it to Bruce, he said, “I’d like you to keep this. Maybe you could read it on the bus if you get bored.” It was the copy of _Wuthering Heights_ they had read together. Bruce nodded silently and hugged the book to his chest. Clark leaned in close to him and gave him a quick, soft kiss. “This isn’t goodbye,” he said. Bruce nodded. “I know.”

They did no chores that morning, for all too soon, it was time to take Bruce to the bus station. The boys were very quiet in the backseat of the truck as it thundered down the highway. “We sure enjoyed having you stay with us, Bruce,” Jonathan said gently. “You know you’re more than welcome to come back any time you like… so long as Mr. Pennyworth approves.” Bruce nodded.

When they had arrived at the bus station, Clark couldn’t help thinking back to that day a whole two months before when they had picked Bruce up and taken him home. He’d been so standoffish and Clark had worried they wouldn’t get along at all… and here he was now, feeling like he was losing the most important person in his life. It was silly, and he knew it. They had just known one another the summer and they’d surely see one another again someday, but still… he felt just like he had felt when he was in second grade and Scooter, the family’s dog, had died. He had cried and felt empty and lonely even though he knew that it was just a part of life. And here he was again… he wasn’t crying, but there was something inside him that was screaming and aching over the fact that he finally understood what it felt like to give yourself to another person… and the person had to leave him.

But Bruce knew loss. He knew that nothing good lasted forever, so though he felt the same aching as Clark, it wasn’t a surprise to him.

Jonathan and Martha both gave Bruce hearty hugs before he and Clark walked to the gate where they would have to part. “Oh, here, before I forget,” Clark began, pulling the letter he had written Bruce out of his back pocket. Bruce pulled his letter out of the copy of _Wuthering Heights_ and handed it to Clark. “And in case I forgot to say so in my letter, I want to thank you for this summer,” Bruce said, looking down. “It may have been the best summer I’ve ever had.”

Clark nodded with a sad smile. “It was definitely the best one for me. And thank you for… for being… you.” And in that moment, he didn’t care that his parents and everyone else in the bus station saw them. He pressed a soft kiss to Bruce’s lips and responded when he felt Bruce pull him closer and deeper. They parted with a sigh and just waved at one another as Bruce had to leave.

Once Bruce had boarded the bus, the Kents watched from the bus station window until it had pulled away and headed off towards Gotham. Clark turned back to his parents and tried to rouse his spirits, so they wouldn’t worry. He figured he might have to answer for that kiss, but there was something about the way his parents were looking at him, with sadness and love and understanding, that told him that his parents weren’t going to ask him about the kiss or anything else. They weren’t surprised.

“So you two knew about us all along, didn’t you?” Clark asked. Jonathan smiled and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Well, not _all_ along… but we figured it out after that drive-in movie incident.”

Martha smiled and added, “It was the way you both stood up for one another.” The she hugged her son and whispered, “We know you’re hurting right now and feeling lonesome, but it’ll get better.”

“Are you sure?” Clark asked sadly. “Because it feels like there’s a hole in me and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Time, son,” Jonathan said softly. “It’ll take time. And these feelings… the hurt… it’ll never be completely gone. But like your ma said, it’ll get better.” Clark nodded and hoped with everything he had that his parents were right.

  
Bruce spent much of the bus ride staring out the window as Kansas flew away behind him. He hadn’t really realized it right away but he had felt so… _normal_ while he was there. For the first time in a really long time, he hadn’t been buried in sadness and guilt and anger… and it was because of these wonderful people who made him feel at home. Because the Kents had treated him like their own son… because Clark had been too good to be real, even though he was. Somehow he had become the _only_ real thing anymore… and the thought of going on for any amount of time without him there, without his own little real world, was scary.

He stared down at the book in his lap and decided it might be a welcome distraction. When he flipped the cover open, there was Clark’s letter; he had almost forgotten. He slunk lower in his seat and opened the envelope, momentarily savoring the fact that it smelled like Clark’s bedroom. He opened the letter and read it through once rather quickly and then once more, very slowly, so he could savor every word.

  
_Dear Bruce,_

_This summer with you has been really perfect, and I feel really lucky that we spent this time together. This will sound corny and silly, but I feel like I was a better person when you were with me… maybe you feel the same way? Or maybe you’re shaking your head and trying not to laugh as you read this, because you secretly like it when I’m silly and corny. I don’t know. But I hope this letter makes you smile. I have so many hopes for where life will take us, but who knows how many of them will come true? I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, and I don’t know if you’ll ever be more than my friend, but I do know I’ll always care. I’ll always miss you and always look back on this summer as the best one of my life. And you’ll always be my first love, and I don’t say that lightly. Somehow, in a very short amount of time, you become the most important thing in my life – very much my best friend, kind of like a brother but closer… and the only person I could ever imagine sleeping beside me. Maybe one day things will fall back into the place where we left them… maybe we’ll spend more nights in the hayloft together. It’s probably a good thing that we didn’t make a whole lot of promises to each other because we don’t know where life will take us. But if it takes us back to each other, I know I’ll be glad. Until next time, stay you._

_Love always,_   
_Clark_

  
By the time the bus rolled into the Gotham station, Bruce had read over the letter in his hand several times. He thought back to the dark, early morning, watching Clark at his desk. He ran his finger across Clark’s signature and sighed. First love. The letter did make him smile, but it was a bittersweet smile, and he was surprised he was capable of even that much at that moment. As he left the bus, he shoved the letter in his pocket and put on his best imitation of a brave face. Alfred was waiting there for him.

“Hello, Master Bruce,” Alfred said cheerfully. “Very good to see you. I trust you enjoyed your summer away from home.” Bruce nodded. “Yes. I did.” And then, so quick that Alfred didn’t even see it coming, Bruce gave him a little hug. “Oh,” Alfred exclaimed with a soft smile as he patted Bruce’s shoulder. The boy walked away in the direction of the car and Alfred watched him for a moment, curious about what had happened in Smallville but realizing it was probably best not to ask.

Bruce didn’t stay in Gotham long. This year’s new school was a prestigious boarding school in Europe, so he was home long enough to get the necessary shots and pack his trunk. By the time he was settled in at his new school, he had read Clark’s letter so many times it was nearly in tatters. Luckily, one of the first things he had done when he went home was to scan the letter onto his computer. He put the hard copy back in the envelope and taped it into the false bottom in his trunk so he could keep it safe and read the digital copy often.

  
But Clark had found that reading Bruce’s letter was… he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready when he came home from the bus station and spent the afternoon alone in his room. He wasn’t ready when school began and his parents praised him for being the only sophomore in junior pre-Calculus. He wasn’t ready when he had to come home from school early one Thursday because he had gotten a migraine headache and then realized he was looking straight through the wall and subsequently had a panic attack. He wasn’t even ready when, close to Halloween, a new letter from Bruce arrived with a European postmark.

But one day, about two weeks before Thanksgiving, he was cleaning his room and he found one of his Harry Potter books under his bed. He had stashed both letters from Bruce inside of it… and now, finally, he felt ready to read them.

He opened the newer letter first because the postmark had intrigued him.

  
_Dear Clark,_

_I thought I might write and give you my new address at my new school in case you’d like to write. Be thankful your parents would never send you to boarding school… the students here are animals. I guess that was what made me think of you… it’s nice to be reminded that somewhere in the world there is a higher quality of company to be had. And somewhere in the world, to me, usually refers to wherever you are._

_There. You see… you’ve got me being as corny as you are._

_Yours always,_   
_Bruce_

  
Clark smiled to himself at that. He’d have to write him back soon. With a deep breath, he grabbed his pillow and hugged it to his chest as he went on to the first letter.

  
_Dear Clark,_

_You know how I said that you were unbelievable? Well, I meant that. You are everything to the extreme. Everything about you is admirable and lovable… and this is exactly why I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I don’t do feelings very well… I try not to do them at all. You know me. But the thought of really having feelings, having them for you and knowing we could only have this summer, well, it tore me up. It still does, especially now that it’s over. Because you helped me so much. You helped me be happy, and now I don’t know if I’ll ever have that again. It’s complicated and unfair, but this is life, isn’t it? And I know you, Clark. You could probably say that we can work something out, but no. I’ve thought about it a lot, and it wouldn’t work. I can’t put my life on hold indefinitely and neither can you, so let’s just remember what we had here and be thankful for it. I’m thankful for it, Clark, and for this summer with you. Live your life… be happy, grow up and marry Lana, and be the writer I know you can be. Just know that even if I didn’t make a difference to you, you made a difference to me. Goodbye, Clark. Maybe not goodbye forever, but goodbye until next time… because I may not have faith in much, but I have to have faith that there will be a next time._

_Yours always,_   
_Bruce_

  
Clark stared at the paper in his hand and felt his eyes mist over a little. His heart twisted a little at Bruce’s words, so warm, but so resigned. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and heaved a little sigh. After reading the letter one more time, he got up and went to his desk and penned a quick reply.

  
_Dear Bruce,_

_It took me a long time to be ready to read your letters. I’m not sure why… maybe I thought the letters would just remind me of the fact that you were really gone. And I’ve been changing in a lot of ways that I don’t really understand and are hard to explain… but one thing remains certain. You, and what you mean to me. It’ll never be past tense. You made a big difference to me, Bruce. And I hope that we’ll see each other again soon, because I’d like to remind you of that in about a hundred little ways._

_Love always,_   
_Clark_

  
The letter was mailed the next morning, and Bruce received it about a week after that. No one would ever know that he had slept with the letter under his pillow for some time. He wouldn’t admit that he read this letter enough times to have it memorized, and he’d certainly never admit that in years to come he would sometimes remind himself of the letter during difficult times.

And even Bruce wouldn’t know that during the times when he and Clark had no more idea of where the other was in the world, when it felt like that short, happy chapter of their lives was long over, that there was still something between them that would define them as people and change their lives yet again.

  
**************************************************************

Fifteen years later, or, to be more accurate, fourteen years and eleven months later, Bruce Wayne is at a fundraiser in Metropolis. He’s just given a speech and received a thunderous round of applause because of a donation he had made to benefit breast cancer research. He’s standing by himself, having just left the bar and sipping a gin martini, when he sees a familiar face approaching him. It’s been a long time, and he’s bigger and taller and now wearing glasses, but he’d recognize that man anywhere. He’s on the arm of that female reporter… what was her name? He’d dealt with her before, but he just… didn’t care at the moment.

The eager female reporter smiled and greeted Bruce in a friendly manner until she looked up and saw that he and her companion had locked eyes. “Oh, Bruce,” she said. “This is my partner, Clark Kent.” And that smile, that same one Bruce so admired all those years ago, the one that gave him those cute dimples, spread across Clark’s face. He extended his hand politely and said, “We’ve met. It’s good to see you, Bruce.”

“Yes, yes we have,” Bruce responded, taking Clark’s hand. “And it’s good to see you, as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I can't believe this is finished. I hope you can all forgive me for the last two chapters. =P There will be more of this story for sure. Thank you all for sticking with me this far... I appreciate it so much more than you even know. <3


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